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BUDS AND FLOWERS, 



LEISURE HOURS. 



An unpretending chaplet, Avove 

Of Patriotism's flowers, 
With tendrils from the vines of Love, 

And leaves from Friendship's bowers. 



/ 



o % 






BY HARRY H AWS ER, 

Sailor, ^c. 



PHILADELPHIA: 




PRINTED ASD PUBLISHED, FOR THE AUTHOIt, HY GEO. W. LOAMMI JOHNSON. 



1844. 






Emered according to the Act of Congress, ia the year 1813, in the Clerk's Office, of tlio District 
Court of the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 



RICHARD VAUX. 

Sir: — 

I beg leave to dedicate to you the following humble effusions 
of my pen, the result of leisure hours, in a situation which your 
kindness tended to transform into a seat on the banks of Repent- 
ance. 

I am sincerely grateful for the many unequivocal marks of your 
kind feeling towards me, while shut out for a time from all allied to 
me by the ties of consanguinity, and it shall be my ambition to 
prove that your favours were not lavished upon a thankless or unim- 
proved unfortunate. 

Should these "Btjds and Flowers" afford you any gratification, 
my highest wishes will have been realized. They are offered as the 
only evidence now in my power, to indicate that your benevolence 
and counsel have neither been misplaced nor disregarded. 
I have the honour to be, 

With true respect, 

Yours, &c., &c., 

HARRY HAWSER. 
Philadelphia, July 25, 1843. 



miEii'S'Ao 



Page 10. — First line in "A Mother's Love," insert (how) Iww vile. 

" 14. — Second line — read caves for waves. 

" 15. — Second " of bottom verse, read i/;at)?/ for tuary. 

" 18. — Third " of last verse, for wave read cave. 

" 21. — Fourth " of second verse, read j/wpea?7e(Z. 

" 2.3. — Fourth " for a period, pla.ce a. comma. 

" 26. — Fifth " of last verse, for Jroiws read Aearfs. 

" 28. — Third " of third verse of " A Pastoral," for glassy, read glossy. 

I " 31. — Twenty-third line, place a semicolon. ^ 

" 38. — Third stanza, fourth line, for was read were. 

" 39 — First line, for thoughtless read thoughtful. 

" 41. — Fourth " for pride, vea.d tide. ■' 

" 49. — Fifth " of third verse read loved. 

" 50. — Fourth " for wing'd, read winged. 

" 53. — Second " of third verse, for j9ass«o«s, read joassion. 

" 56. — Last line, insert the word all, all the tinselry. 

'" 64. — Sixth " of top verse, for dream, read beam. 

" 70. — Third " of lower stanza, for anc?, read ivhen. 

" 72. — Third " from top, for mai/haps, read mayhap. 

" 80. — Second " " Sparkling Bowl," for bearded, read headed, 

*' 86. — First " third verse " Isabel May," for cupids, read cupid. 

" " — Second " last " for naiads, read naiWe. 

" 108. — Thirteenth line for Briton's, read Britain's. 

" 113. — Fourth " frombottom, for g-/ou»s, read ^W5. 

« « — Eleventh line from " for aiitedaling, read antedating. 

•" 1 14. — Ninth ' line from " for borrow' d, read borrowed. 



wmmw A(^mo 



The author of the following pages, during a period of involuntary seclu- 
sion from society, devoted his leisure hours to reading and reflection, and the 
while, he composed these fugitive pieces, now offered to the reader. They 
were written at intervals, during three years, the term of his imprisonment. 
Born of respectable parents, he, in early j'ears, became imbued with the love 
of roaming, which so controlled his disposition, that when young he left his 
father's roof, and passed the larger portion of his time at sea, and in foreign 
climes. Intemperance consigned him to a prison. Justice to a system of 
prison discipline, which has received the severe and unjust criticism of many 
intelligent persons, has induced him to lay before the public the results of its 
operation upon himself, as the best and most indisputable refutation of the 
condemnation it has received. 

When first left to his own meditations, the scenes of childhood, and the 
adventures of youth were the constant subjects of his thought ; — next follow- 
ed the remembrance of the attempts to impart instruction and good counsel 
by his parents, and these, united, were the sources of vitality of "Buds axd 
FiowEHS OF Leisuhe Hours." 

He regards his confinement at Cherry Hill * the happiest event of his life. 
It has dissolved improper connections, remodelled his tastes, improved his 
mind, and, he trusts, made better his heart. He is neither morose, imbecile, 
dispirited, or deranged, and whatever reformation his imprisonment may have 
produced, he can attribute it to the separate seclusion from evil example and 
worse precept, which must necessarily follow the indiscriminate congregation 
of offenders, in a place of punishment. 

This volume was never designed for the public eye, but since his return 
into society, he has been reluctantly induced to put it in its present form, as 
one instance, at least, of the good i-esults that may follow the operations of 
penitentiary punishment, which originated in Pennsylvania, and which must 
become universal wherever society has for its object the reformation, as well 
as punishment, of such of its unfortunate members as have been, or may be, 
similarly situated with the one, who, under a fictitious name, subscribes him- 
self the reader's friend. 

HARRY HAWSER, 

Sailor, ^c. 

Philadeiphia, July 25, 184.3. 

■ * The name generally given to the Eastern S'tate Penitentiary, from the fact that its site \vas thus 
called by its original proprietor. 



51 w ^ isiir E ti f IS) w . 

Ye sisters nine, inspire, yet once again, 
With your poetic fires the wanderer's pen. 
He may not hope to reach the height Parnassus, 
Where rears his mane of light the wing'd Pegassus, 
But, by your leave, will tread the plains below. 
Where steeds of good, but cooler mettle grow. 
He fain would tell, in metre, what he knows, 
Although his poesy, or his humble prose 
May not be such as pleases certain would be, 
Most knowing hypercritics,— -if they could be. 



ts] wHf mH 



— ..>>a®9«« 



Dedication, ..-....- . Page 3 

Preface, -- - 5 

Invocation, ..-6 

The Sailor, 9 

A Mother's Love, . . -. 10 

Columbia's Seamen, n 

Song, ---12 

Woman, -- -- 13 

The Dying Sailor, - - - - -" - - -. - .13 

The Captive to his Mistress, 14 

Our Constitution and our Native Land, - - - - - - 16 

"Pq ******* _ _ _ _ _ _ _ . . _ _■ la 

Song for New Year Morn, 19 

^Q ******* _ , , , _ _ .'_ _ __ 20 

The Spirit Land, ^ - - . 21' 

Toasts, --i ---'22 

ColumlDia's Flag, ... . - . . - . .25 

Extemporaneous Lines, '-. 26 

The Dying Slave, - . 27 

A Pastoral, 28 

Virtue and Desire, ---29 

Florence Rosamell, 30 

To a Little Miss, ...... ---.32 

Roll it out Yet Once Again, - - - - - - - . 33 

The Sailor's Burial, - - - ' - .34 

Woman, 35 

Fairmaine — La Belle, -. 35 

Death's Grand Review, :. 36 

Mellicent St. Cloud, - - - . .39 

Lines, on the death of William H. Harrison,- 40 

Woman's Love, 40 

Tell me not of Pleasure's Flowing, - - .... . 41 

Come to me, Lov'd One, - ...... -42 

Lines, on the Capture and Burning of Quallah Battoo, ... 43 

The Battle of Trenton, - - . - 45 

Our City and its Fair, - - - -"47 

Lines, to the Memory of Lieut. S. B. S., - - - - - -48 

To *******, - 49 

Sunrise, 50 

"Pq ******* _^ _ _ _ .. .'-. . . Crt 

Lines, on the Death of Cap t. James Lawrence, - - . . 51 

To a Mother Weeping for her First Born, 52 

The Flower Girl, 53 

Lines, to the Memory of a Friend, 54 

Our City not a Paradise, -- 55 

Lines, on the Loss of the United States Ship Hornet, - - - - 58 



CONTEXTS. 

To ******♦, 61 

Our Forefathers, ...- e-z 

Thoughts of a Prisoner on Regaining his Liberty, 63 

The Ingrate at the Grave of his Mother, 64 

Quoellla 1 65 

Aye ! Nail it Firmly to the Mast, 66 

'Pq ******* ........... 67 

Time's Flight, 67 

'Yq ******* ....... ..-.68 

The Captive, 70 

To the Sailor, 71 

To *******, 72 

Our World, 73 

"Pq ******* ... . . . . . . . . . 74 

The Lover at the Tomb of his Mistress, 75 

Clara, 76 

Lines, on Washington, 77 

The Reclaimed Drunkard to his Acquaintances, .... 78 

The Sacrificed, 79 

Touch not the Sparkling Bowl, 80 

Flora Dell, 81 

The Wine Cup, 82 

Eyes, 83 

To Miss F***** B*****, 85 

Isabel May, 86 

Our Country, 88 

To the Infidel, 91 

The Creation, 92 

"Pq ******* ............ 94 

Ode, - 95 

"Pq ******* ........... 96 

Give me to Drink, -...-..,.-97 

To the Ocean, 98 

The Sinner to his Soul, 100 

I want a Beau ! — I've got a Beau! — I'm Married now, . - - 102 

fj^Q ******* .-...-...-. 103 

Lines, ' 104 

Memory, 105 

Columbia at the Grave of Decatur, 106 

Wake, Wake the Lyre, 109 

The Contrast, 110 

1,2, 110 

The Rose, HI 

Sunset, Ill 

A Paraphrase of the 4th and 5th verses of the 95th Psalm, - - 112 

The Creation of Eve, 113 

Cava: — A Lay for the Ladies, - 114 

An Inebriate's Solitary Thoughts, 120 

What Avas— What is— What may be, 124 



BUDS AND FLOWERS, 



njun^isriEii micDWiBgo 



I am a jovial tar and true, 

As ever handled brace or sail, 
And in my frock and jacket blue. 

Have weathered many a stormy gale. 
'Tis my delight, when sable night 

Has o'er the ocean thrown her veil, 
Like any spright, the giddy height 

To mount, and hand the pliant sail. 

0, is it not a glorious sight, 

A staunch and gallant ship to see — 
With hull and rigging black as night. 

And manned with ocean's chivalry ■ — 
Go forth, so like a thing of life. 

With flowing sheet and bow-line free, 
To mingle in the bloody strife. 

And wreathe her prow with victory ! 

And who so happy as the tar. 

With gallant vessel bounding free 

Along tlie wave, when many a star 
Illumes the sky with brilliancy ! 
2 



10 BUDSANDFLOWERS. 

And what does he for Boreas care, 
Or bearded Nep, or frowning Jove ? 

The tempest's wrath he'll boldly dare, 
And still the fickle water's rove. 



isiiillutrip'^ l.(5i^(r< 



It matters not how virtuous or vile 
May be the object of a mother's love, 

Whether the heart be prone to good or guile, 
In storm or sunshine it the same will prove. 

With what delight she looks upon her boy. 
When verging on to manhood's busy years ! 

His manly beauty fills her heart with joy — 
That heart a varied scene of hopes and fears. 

Hopes, that his manly breast may ever know, 
The baneful deed of wrong, from that of right ; 

Fears, that the vain and giddy world may throw 
Around his heart a cold and withering blight. 

And should misfortune throw around his name, 
The chilling shadows of her sombre wing. 

And he, by error led, be doom'd to shame. 
Her love will soothe away the half its sting. 

O, who can paint a mother's lasting love ? 

It does not, as the mellow beams of light, 
Which in their beauty gild yon arch above. 

Forsake its sphere when fall the clouds of night. 

Nay, when around it low'r the clouds of life, 
That love grows stronger, as the ocean wave 

Lash'd into fury 'mid the angry strife 

Of warring elements, and dies but in the grave. 



BUDSANDFLOWERS. 11 



When Britain with imperious sway, 

In power exulting swept the wave, 
And strove with stern oppression's chains, 

Columbia's seamen to enslave. 
They seiz'd that proud and starretl flag. 

The rallying standard of the free. 
And 'neath its folds, through smoke and flame, 

'Mid blood and wreck, on every sea, 
Proclaim'd to an admiring world, 

That still those bright and holy fires 
Which warm'd in many a bloody fight. 

The bosoms of their patriot sires. 
Burnt brightly as in days of yore, 

When Albion's rampant lion fell 
Before the noble bird of Jove, 

And tyrants bade our land farewell. 

Yes, they are brave, and while a plank 

Will float upon the bounding billow, 
Columbia's tars will fight like men. 

Or seek a watery pillow. 
I've seen them in the bloody fray, 

I've seen their dark eyes flashing, 
When daring death in serried ranks. 

Or through the tempest dashing. 
I've them on a dangerous lee. 

Where mountain billows flaunted; 
Among the dark and iron rocks 

I've seen them, still undaunted. 
Our seamen's feats have gained for them, 

A glorious and an envied name : 
As glowing stars the midnight sky, 

Their deeds illume the scroll of fame. 



12 BUDS AND FLOWERS, 



isi m ©. 



Where the woodbines were creeping, 

A maiden sat weeping, 
For her lover had gone to the red battle field : 

The bright beams of morning. 

Each wild flow'r adorning, 
Were dancing in beauty on banner and shield. 

With pearly tears streaming, 

From eyes brightly beaming, 
The rose-tinted cheeks of this maiden were wet ; 

While wantonly straying, 

The zephyrs were playing, 
And chaunting their notes 'mong her tresses of jet. 

The cannon's loud rattle. 

The deep din of battle, 
On the wings of the wind to this maiden were borne ; 

'Mong the dead and the dying 

Her lov'd one was lying. 
With the banner he'd fought for all bloody and torn. 

The clarion's were pealing, 

This maiden was kneeling, 
The cold corpse of him her own lov'd one beside ; 

For a moment she gaz'd 

On his feature's amaz'd, 
Then slowly sank down on his bosom and died. 



Tacitum sylvas inter repture salubres, 



Curantum quicquid dignum sapiente bonoque est 

llorurc. 



BUDS AND FLOWERS, 13 



O what is there on earth so fair, as Woman in her purity ? 
Yon dome of blue, the sparkling dew, the foam upon the rosy sea, 
The morningstar, the glowing car thatbears the peerless queen of night, 
The pearls that gem the diadem of ocean are not half so bright. 

Let stoics sneer ! was she not here the clouds of life to dissipate, 
And with her smile its pains beguile, darksome indeed were our estate. 
When sickness flings her gloomy wings around the brow of lordly man. 
His pains she soothes, his pillow smoothes, and cheers him as no other 

[can. 

The magic hand that form'd the land and bade the sea its billows roll, 
Whose fiat threw yonboundless blue from east to west, from pole to pole, 
And made the sun to shine upon the rich and poor, the serf and king, 
And Cynthia bright o'er Ethiop night the radiance of her brow to fling. 

Look'd on them all, both great and small, the brute, the fish that swim 

[the flood. 
The birds that fly along the sky, and one and all, pronounc'd he good. 
Then Man was made, in pow'r array'd by Him, to live Creation's king, 
And from his side a beauteous bride — the last, the best, the fairest thing. 



Mt Dtam® ,^®alli^r< 



Raise me, that I may gaze once more. 
Upon the blue and laughing tide. 

And see the sun his radiance pour, 
And watch the sportive dolphin glide 

Along the snow-capp'd wave. 



14 BUDSANDFLOWERS. 

Ah ! many a time and oft, I've said 
That ocean's fairy waves should be 

My resting place when I was dead ; 
That dancing waves their minstrelsy 

Should chaunt above my grave. 

And now the hour has come, and now 
I bid farewell to all that's bright; 

The death-damps gather on my brow, 
A film comes over my fevered sight ; — 

Earth, ocean, friends adieu ! 

He sunk to rest, and many a tear, 

From eyes of men unus'd to weeping, 

Fell o'er their comrades starred bier : — 
The young, the brave, in peace is sleeping. 
Beneath the waters blue. 



te ®^|ptia55e t^ U^^ 3^iM]p^^^, 



Clara, ah well I know that bosom's feeling ! 

No selfish thought can ever enter there ; 
The sunbeam o'er some silver streamlet stealing 

In wanton gambols, is not half so fair. 
The seraphim that grace yon beaming heaven, — 

A glorious halo cincturing each brow, — 
Pure as they are, have more to be forgiven 

Of Him, the Great Magician, than hast thou. 

Turn thou thy beauteous face, and throw a beam 
Of gladness o'er the captive's gloomy brow ! 

Let him, oh, let him gather one bright gleam 
Of sunshine from thy features ; 'twill endow 



BUDSANDFLOWERS. 15 

The wayward slave of folly with a spell 

Which the gay world shall strive to break in vain, 

And long, aye ever fondly shall it dwell 
With other links in memory's golden chain. 

I 've said thou 'rt kind ; — is there one little space 

In thy young heart, where purest sympathy 
Might find a home, a hallow'd resting place. 

And sometimes turn thy memory to me ? 
I trust there is ! The dancing billows play, 

The gallant vessel surging through the sea, 
The brow of beauty, ocean's rainbow spray, 

Shall all be merged in one fond thought of thee ! 

Why do I ask thee, chaste and fair one, why 

Tune my lays to one so pure and meek ? 
Why does the humbled felon, ere he die, 

Turn to'ard yon azure dome, as if to seek 
Some soothing ray of hope that 't will be well, 

With his undying soul, when life hath fled 
Its clayey tenement, and the muffled bell 

Tolls out its requiem for the unhonour'd dead? 
I would that some bright vision, such as may 

Be conjur'd up by gazing on forms like thine. 
Should linger on my mind both night and day, 

And rear itself into a hallow'd shrine. 

At which my humble prayers might all be told. 
As in some sacred temple ting'd with gold, 
And where voice, timbrel, harp, and lute combin'd, 

Awake such sounds as Orpheus of yore. 
To please his spouse, in Pluto's realms confined. 

Struck from the lyre on Lelhe's shady shore. 



Her snowy brow with flow'rs was bound. 
Her silken hair, in wary curls 

Of glistening gold, fell down around 
A neck and bosom white as pearls. 



16 BUDSANDFLOWERS 



(§)m (B^mMtuU^m uwM ^w MiiM^if aaim^« 



Who hath not heard how oft in days of yore, 
Our infant Navy, with its stripes and stars, 
Made vaunting England bleed at every pore, 

And taught the world that famed Columbia's tars 
Were worthy scions of that fearless band, 
Which fought for freedom and their native land, 
When God-like Washington led on the van. 
And freed his fellow men from slavery's ban?- 

Who hath not heard how boasting England said. 
That she, the mistress of the sea, would sweep 
Our feeble fleet from oflf the wave, and spread 

Destruction o'er the bosom of the deep ? 
How, on the wave, her haughty myrmidons 
Impress'd and scourg'd Columbia's hardy sons. 
And bade them bend to kings the servile knee, 
Forswear their country, friends, and liberty ? 

Who hath not heard the answer that was given, 
By this undaunted, more than Spartan band ? 

" We scorn your threats ; we bend the knee to heaven, 
And fight for freedom and our native land ! 

Our starred banner gallantly shall wave 
■ As long as ocean's graceful billows lave 

Its myriad isles ! our watchword still shall be, 

Our God, our country, friends and liberty !" 

Who hath not heard how Hull and Dacres met; — 
The sterling patriot, and the garter'd knight? 

" The warrior," in the Briton's topsails set ; 
And from his mizzen-peak, a pennant bright 



BU45SANDFLOWERS. V7 

Roll'd out its glittering texture to the breeze, 
Bearing defiance — and the words were these, — 
(Expressing what the boaster proudly felt,) 
" This is the Guerriere, not the Little Belt!" ' 

Who hath not heard how Dacres and his crew 
Swung round their hats and shouted " victory !" 

While Hull his gallant vessel boldly threw 
Broadside and broadside with his enemy ? 

Then iron deaths flew thickly o'er the flood ; 

The Guerriere's riven decks were bath'd in blood ; 

Her shatter'd masts with heavy balls were bor'd, 

Her noble hull from stem to stern was scor'd. 

Old Albion's haughty ensign sought the deck, 
And England's chaplet trembled, when the free 

Enwrapp'd in flames the Guerriere's shatter'd wreck, 
And strew'd her timbers o'er the laughing sea. 

Old Ironsides — our country's boast and pride, 

Still roll thou proudly o'er the tropic tide ; 

The warrior Mars thy willing rudder guides, 

Columbia's ocean scourge — Old Ironsides. 

Our country's youth — the lisping babe is taught 
To trace the bright and burnish'd scroll of fame ; 

To emulate the deeds of those who fought, 
And bled, and planted freedom's oriflame, 

Where, while the sun rears high his glowing crest 

Above this smiling Eden of the West, 

As firm as adamantine rocks shall stand, 

The flag of Freedom and our Native Land. 



The fairest flower is doom'd to fade ; 

The brightest sky will wear a cloud ; 
The loveliest form is soonest laid 

Within its winding shroud. 



BUDS AND FLOWERS, 



how I love to gaze upon such faultless forms as thine, 

And gazing wish that pow'r and wealth, and virtue's wreath were mine, 
That I might win the cherub smiles upon thy ruby lip, 
That for an instant I might thence the purest nectar sip. 

But why should I, the doom'd of Heaven, such impious thoughts retain ! 
Away then every nobler wish, thy blandishments are vain. 
No more shall lovely woman's face be clad in smiles for me ; 
No more her voice in tones of pure, deep, thrilling melody 

Come o'er my soul I — since fate has thrown her gloomy drapery 
Around my life, I'll wander forth upon the stormy sea ; 
The thunder clap, the howling wind, the lightning's ruddy glare, 
The spirits of the storm shall be my boon companions there. 

1 ask no other resting place when I am with the dead, 

Than such as countless myriads know, the ocean's coral bed ; 
1 ask no sculptur'd monument, no cypress bough or willow, 
My grave shall be the open sea, the blue and crested billow. 

I ask but friends to clothe me in the cerements of the grave, 
To launch my body forth upon the blue and laughing wave ; 
The laughing wave, the coral wave, my resting place shall be. 
And all unworthy as I am, thou'lt drop a tear for me. 



On the blood reeking plain and the dark rolling main. 
Will freedom's own children her banner sustain ; 
And liberty's emblem, the eagle, shall soar, 
Unfetter'd and free until Time is no more. 



BUDS AND FLO WER3. 19 



Fill high the bowl, we'll bathe the soul 

In floods of rosy wine, 
And oflfer up the sparkling cup 

At friendship's holy shrine, 
The olden year upon his bier, 

Is lying cold and pale ; 
Then, while Vve pass the sparkling glass, 

Another's birth we'll hail. 

Come push around with garlands bound. 

The mant'ling bowl agaia ; 
Each time we drink we add a link 

To friendship's golden chain; 
And let each heart with joy impart, 

A portion of its mirth. 
While round we pass the sparkling glass, 

To greet a New-Year's birth. 

Old Time may fling his sombre wing 

Around earth's fairy bowers. 
And 'neath his storms the fairest forms 

May fall like blasted flowers ; 
But while the light of life is bright, 

And spreads its genial beam. 
We'll strive to drown his darkest frown. 

In friendship's dazzling stream. 

Then seize the bowl, each jovial soul. 

The new-born year may shed. 
No fairy beam, no brilliant gleam, 

Around the mould'ring dead ; 
But we in life, our bosom's rife 

With pleasure's roseate rays. 
Will once again awake the strain, 

That tells of by-gone days. 



20 BUDSANDFLOWERS, 






I've stood beside that blue and tideless sea, 

Which rolls its bright and laughing, waves along 
The green and smiling shores' of Italy, 

With murmtirings sweeter than a siren's song : 
I've seen the loveliest beings there. 
And listen'd to their minstrelsy, 
But never saw I one so fair. 
So worthy to be lov'd as thee. 

I've stood beneath that Eden's cloudless skies, 

When bright and clust'ring stars were in them hung, 
And cooling zephyrs, soft as maiden's sighs, 
Wanton'd like birds its leafy proves among ; 
And there I've heard the lover's vow 

Breath'd warmly forth at beauty's shrine ; 
And there, on many a lovely brow, 
A charm I've seen, but none like thine. 

I've mingled with the fairest in the dance. 

When troll'd the harp and jocund castanet. 
And seen the rays of many a sunny glance, 
In eyes of blue and lovely orbs of jet. 
Of all the gems so thickly strewn 

O'er charming, beauteous Italy, ' 

My faithful memory will not own 
One half so fair, so bright as thee. 



She comes — ajewell'd ring is set 

Upon her finger now, 
In glossy braids her locks of jet 

Are parted on her brow, 
And round her luscious lip a smile, 
Of witching sweetness plays the while. 



BUDSANDFLOWERS. -^ 21 



^M ^^iHt M^UW^. 



This world is beautiful 'tis true, 

But there's a brighter far than this 
Beyand that dome of wavy blue — 

A home of everlasting bliss ; 
That Spirit Land whose canopy 

Is never sullied with a cloud ; 
Where clad in spotless drapery, 

Their heads in adoration bow'd, 
A myriad band of vestals raise 
Their voices in Jehovah's praise. 

There purling streams and shady bowers, 

With fields of amaranthine hue. 
And beds of bright, ambrosial flowers, 

Impearl'd with the purest dew. 
On .every hand, to glad the eye. 

Are spread in loveliness — and there. 
Than those of sultry Araby, 

The breezes richer perfumes bear ; 
There, too, such melody is heard, 
As never mortal's bosom stirr'd. 

Who would not leave a sphere like this, 

Tho' bright and beautiful it be, 
In realms of never-ending bliss 

To reign throughout eternity ? 
Who would not leave a world so vain. 

So fraught with misery and care. 
So rife with harr'wing grief and pain,. 

To dwell with saints in glory there. 
And 'neath those grateful shades recline, 
Where all is hallow'd, all divine. 



22 B U D S A N D F L O W E R S . 



Come let us drink, my jovial tars, 

A flowing glass to those who bore 
Our saucy flag, the stripes and stars, 

The bunting of this Eden shore, 
When England left her sea-girt coast. 

With gallant armament to sweep. 
As she had sworn — an empty boast — 

Our " cock-boats " from the bounding deep. 

Unfurl the burning scroll of fame ; 

No clime can boast a sheet so fair; — 
Unfurl her scroll and read each name 

Inscrib'd in golden letters there ; 
With his, who by false honour led. 

Met death from one to fame unknown. 
And those who died in glory's bed. 

Are those of they who still live on. 

Fill high, ye tigers of the main ! 

The beaming goblet's bright contents. 
With three times three around, we'll drain, 

To those who need no monuments,— 
No limner's skill, — no sculptor's art,— 

Whose glorious deeds upon the seas, 
Are penn'd on ev'ry freeman's heart, 

Are heard in ev'ry passing breeze. 

Fill high, and to the memory 

Of him who 'mid the fiercest fight. 

Before the walls of Tripoli, 

Bore down the crescent in its might, 



BUDSANDFLOWEKS. 23 

And on the Atlantic billow won 

A fadeless wreath, a laurel crown, 
When the proud cross of Albion 

Before the starred flag came down. 

Drink first, drink standing, one and all ; 

Drink deep, my lads, and should a tear. 
At fate, like brave Decatur's, fall 

From the Isright eye of any here. 
Why, mix it with the sparkling tide 

We quaff in sorrow o'er the grave 
Of him who liv'd his country's pride. 

The Eagle of the mountain wave. 

Once more ! and in the ruddy tide, — 

Bar'd every brow the while, — we'll sip 
Peace to his shade, who dying cried — 

" My heroes — don't give up the shipP^ * 
A fated ship ! but still the name 

Of him who captur'd Juno's bird. 
Shall be, while earth hath place for Fame 

To rfcst her foot, a rallying word. 

Now, to his memory who fell 

In victory's arms, of whom the tide 
Of ocean sung the dirge, whose knell 

Was toll'd against the Boxer's side;t 
And his who in the Argus died : — 

Who bore Columbia's thunders o'er 
The waste of waters, and defied 

The foe upon his native shore. J 

Again, fill high ! aye, to the brim- 
To Stewart, Hull, and Jones, the brave. 

To Bainbridge, Porter, and to him 
Who beat the foe on Erie's wave ; 

* Lawrence. f Burroughs. ^j: Allen. 



24 BUDSANDFLOWERS. 

Drink deep, my tars, and fill again ! 

To Blakely, Biddle, Patterson, 
Downes, Morris, he of lake Champlain, 

Wadsworth, and Somers, and- we're done. 

Nay, fill to Allen, nobly brave, 

Who for his country, in the pride 
Of manhood fell, when on the wave, 

A pirate horde her laws defied ; 
And Stockton — never worthier name — 

Nor warmer heart — nor brighter mind, 
Has grac'd our soil, and never fame. 

For nobler brow a wreath entwin'd. 

And, sailors, let us not forget 

To quaff a flowing glass to those, 
Who first upon the billow met. 

And conquered Columbia's foes ; 
Fill high, then ! be the memories blest 

Of Truxton, Barney, Biddle, Jones, 
Brave Dale, and Murray — ^lightly rest 

The sod above their honour'd bones. 

Yet once more let the nectar gush, 

And fill each goblet high ! and now — 
In wine whose current wears a flush 

Like that upon the morning's brow — 
To those brave tars, not least, tho' last. 

Who fought, bled, conquer'd on the main, 
Who nobly faced the battle's blast, 

Our country's banner to sustain. 



From ocean's foam, along the cyprian shore, 
'Tis said the dam of soft-lipp'd Cupid rose. 



BUDSANDTLOWERS. 25 



Roll out the starred flag, and cry 

The watchword of the free, 
Beneath its folds we'll do or die. 

For friends, and liberty ! 
Rear high its oaken staff, and cry 

The onslaught of the brave ; 
We'll conquer, or our blood shall dye 

The flag our fathers gave ! 

Roll out the flag, the starred flag, 

Proud emblem of the free ; 
Columbia's sons shall never drag 

The chains of tyranny ! 
Twice has her soaring Eagle borne 

Britannia's Lion down ; 
Twice have her hardy warriors torn 

A gem from England's crown. 

Then roll the meteor banner out, 

The banner of the free. 
And loudly ev'ry freeman shout 

The song of victory; 
No more shall England's hireling band, 

•Or dark oppression reign ; 
Columbia's yeomen rule the land, 

Her siailors rule the main. 



She said she was in love — ^but O, she lov'd a jolly sailor who 
Was rock'd by tempests to and fro, upon the billows blue. 

4 



26 B U D S A N D I L O W E U S 



WRITTEN ON BOAIII) THE BATiaUE »****, AT SEA. 

O, that it might forever be — 
The bosoms now so full of glee, — 

My lot to linger near ! 
To have the privilege to trace 
The features of each lovely face, 

I see around me here. 

To gaze upon each happy brow, 
To have the thrills of joy as now— 

So sweet — so exquisite ; 
I would not, ev'ry sin forgiven. 
Exchange it for that glowing Heaven 

Portray'd in Holy Writ. 

0, this were an Hesperides, 
A Paradise upon the seas— 

A garden rich and rare. 
Whose golden fruit, the stalwart arm 
Of God's own image shields from harm, — 

A home divinely fair. 

Where beauty, with her peerless form, 
Too frail to brave the ocean's storm, 

Hath join'd us, with her lip 
Enwreath'd in smiles, to wile away 
A weary hour, while ocean's spray 

Is sparkling round our ship. 

I will not wish to all, nor one, 

The Spaniard's wish, that yonder sun 

May shine a thousand years 
Your brows around, on this rude earth ; 
But may your brows be rife with mirth 

While in this vale of tears. 



BUDSANDFLOWERS. 27 

And when the Great Commander's call 
Shall echo through this spheric ball, 

And earth and sea give up 
Their mould'ring dead — a motley crowd — 
May one and all here be allow'd 

To taste salvation's cup. 



'%^ Df am® SH^^ir. 



I feel the clammy hand of death lie heavy on my brow, 

His icy fetters fall around my nerveless members now ; 

But lighter they than were the chains the white man's ruffian hand 

Put on my limbs, when I was torn from my own father-land. 

With thrice an hundred bore they me across the stormy main, 
To shrink beneath the lash, and wear vile slav'ry's burning chain ; 
They tore me from my happy home on Afric's sunny strand. 
They robb'd me of the joys I knew in my own father-land. 

That scene is fresh in memory yet, — remember'd all too well, — 
When from their ships, with sword and scourge, rush'd down the 

[hounds of hell. 
Sweeping like tempest-blast along hill, vale, and silver sand, 
They spread destruction o'er the face of my own father-land. 

Yes, desolation rang'd at will ! Around the lovely spot — 
By bounteous nature richly clad — where stood my humble cot ; 
Fiend-like they trampl'd down, and crush'd, and slrew'd on ev'ry hand, 
The fairest charms beneath the skies of my own father-land. 

Springing like tigers at my throat, this wasted form around. 
With scowls, and blows, and angry words the galling thongs they bound ; 
Then forth they drove me like a brute, that fierce, that ruthless band. 
With many a lash and fearful curse, from my own father-land. 



BUDS AND FLOWERS, 



The negro raised himself and cried — " the grave hath clos'd above 
My mother and my aged sire, the all I had to love ; 
And Death, thou ransomer of slaves, I come, at thy command ; 
Away vile chains ! I'm free again ! farewell ray father-land !" 

That hapless one fell back and died — but ere his spirit fled, 
With hands high rais'd he call'd a curse upon the white man's head 
" Curse ye, white man, a cleaving curse to ye who slav'ry's brand 
Sear'd on the cheek of him ye stole from his own father-land !" 



§1 W^^t^^^l^ 

Let us roam through the meadows ! the mist of the morn 
Is asleep on the mountain, the dew-spangled thorn 
Its blossoms hath spread to the summer's soft gale, 
And the vi'let and cowslip enamel the vale. 

The black-bird and thrush, on the light bending spray, 
Chaunt their mellowest notes to the bright orb of day. 
And the lark, as he wings thro' the heavens his flight, 
Carols forth a sweet lay from his cloud-mantled height. 

The humming bird flits round the vine trellis' d bower. 
Sipping nectarine sweets from each velvet leaf'd flower; 
And glassy wing'd bees, from the honey-fraught cup 
Of the peach's sweet blossom a rich banquet sup. 

What a myriad of beauties ! how charming the scene ! 
The landscape how smiling, the sky how serene ; 
How fair to the sight is each grove-crested hill. 
Each verdure clad valley and sweet purling rill. 

All nature looks glad ; — 'tis her gala day now — 
A wreathe of bright flowers encircles her brow ; 
She is robed in her holiday dress, and her curls 
Flow in grace on her shoulders besprinkl'd with pearls. 



B U D S A N D F L O W E R S . 29 



She is here in her beauty ; bud, flower, and tree, 
The mellow- voic'd breezes on mountain and lea. 
The forest's wild tenant, the bird in the grove, 
To greet her, have join'd the full chorus of love. 



^tm^ EW^ W^M^t< 



Virtue one day in lovely May — 

That month so dang'rous to the fair — 
Resolv'd to roam, left care at home, 

And wander'd forth to take the air. 
Within a grove she met with Love, 

Or so at least the damsel thought ; 
But 't was Desire, whose shafts of fire. 

Have many a virgin's ruin wrought. 

His rosy wing, the silken string 

Upon the urchin's silver bow. 
His witching eye, like autumn's sky. 

And e'en his very arrows glow, 
With quiver light, and baldric bright, 

Were so like Love's the maid believ'd, 
As more than one before had done — 

Alas for them ! and was deceiv'd. 

Maidens beware ! O, have a care ! 

Desire oft wanders in disguise ; 
And oft his arts, the lightest hearts 

Have doom'd to misery and sighs. 
The wilding bee is not more free. 

His velvet wings no honey bear, 
But on his tongue a nectar's hung, 
And she who tastes it weds despair. 



30 BUDSANDFLOWERS. 



jFHisiremijir M/i5]^^me]lil 



" Alas ! that man should ever win 
So sweet a shrine to shame and sin, 
As woman's heart" 



I saw her, when in infancy she lay, 

A smiling babe, upon her mother's breast ; 
She was a seraph then ; the brightest ray 

That in its beauty lights the glowing west, 
When Sol is sinking to his billowy bed, 

And from his chariot decks the summer's sky, 
And hill, and valley, forest, wave, and mead, 

With mellow tints of every gorgeous dye, — ■ 

Is not more pure and lovely. 

Again — when weary years had roll'd away, 

I look'd upon that fair and guileless creature : 
'Twas on a bright and beaming summer's day. 

And angel smiles lit up her every feature. 
With others of her sex she roam'd among 

Earth's many tinted fragrance breathing flow'rs. 
And o'er her lithe and faultless form were flung 

Such charms as poets sing of Paphian bowers ; 
Where smiling nymphs, with forms of peerless mould, 

Wander 'raid cooling shades 'neath cloudless skies ; 
Where silver streamlets roll o'er sands of gold. 

And blend with breezes light their fairy melodies. 

Again I saw her, — 'twas a gala night; 

A princely hall with myriad lights was glowing. 
And beings fair, with steps as aether light, 

Mov'd to the tones of richest music, flowing 



BUDS AND FLOWERS. 31 

In thrilling cadence from a thousand^strings, 

And soft ton'd flutes, in sweetest melody, 
Their numbers mingled ; and the zephyrs wings 

Bore perfumes sweet as those of Araby. 
Of all that glittering, beauteous throng, was she 

The fairest, loveliest, and when she spoke, 
Her voice, as mellow as the murmuring sea, 

In witching tones on ravish'd list'ners broke. 
Ah! many a proud soul'd youth the willing knee 

Would there have bent, one cherub smile to gain 
From her, his bosom's idol ; and the free 

With pleasure worn vile slav'ry's galling chain ; 
For she was happy then ! — a heavenly dream 

Of bliss with him she lov'd, would o'er her soul, — 
As summer's twilight o'er some placid stream, — 

At such an hour its joyous influence roll. 
A baseless dream ;■ — this modest flower was cast, 

E'en by the ruffian hand that should have been 
Its stern defender, — on the world's rude blast, 

A withering type of wretchedness and sin. 

Again I saw her ; — o'er a neck more fair 

Than lilies cuU'd in Tempe's blooming vale, 
Fell in luxuriance rich her raven hair 

Upon her brow, — as Sharon's flow'ret pale, — 
Reflecting back the varied lights around, 

A triple row of gems and priceless pearls, 
Her sainted mother's gift, was lightly bound, 

And borrow'd lustre from her glossy curls. 

She was at prayer ; — 
About her rosy lip a sweet sad smile. 

Which might a joy, a new-born hope express, 
Play'd in its winning beauty, and the while 

She conjur'd heaven, in melting tones, to bless 
The false and perjur'd one, the heartless fiend, 

To whom with woman's confidence she'd given 
Her all, her virgin heart, — and fondly lean'd 

As on a friend from whom the hand of heaven. 
Alone, could part her. 



32 nUDSANDFLOWERS., 

I saw her once again! — the. drapery of the tomb 

Enwrapp'd her cold remains, and flowers fresh blown, 
Gather'd by mourning friends, who in her bloom 

Knew the fair Florence, — o'er her lov'd form were strown 
Above her pale, cold brow, her hair of jet, 

With studied care, by some fair hand was parted. 
And 'mong its braids some loving friend had set 

A chaste white rose, of her, the broken hearted, 
Once a meet emblem. Long did I gaze upon 

That face of youth and loveliness, and there, 
Methought, that faultless lip, which Death had won 

From this rude earth, did still the impress bear 
Of that sweet smile, which lightly play'd 

In sunny radiance round it when I last 
Beheld her, as she meekly knelt and pray'd, 

Bending as some frail flower before the wint'ry blast. 

I saw the grave close o'er the fair young form 

Of erring Florence, and I look'd to Heaven, 
That home of happiness, where blight, nor storm 

Intrude, to mar the virtues, or the graces given 
To things of earth by an Almighty power. 

And' sinner though I was, I pray'd fervently 
That those cerulean realms the priceless dower 

Of the lov'd Florence Rosamell might be. 



Thy soft blue eye and thy golden hair, 
Thy ruby lip and thy brow so fair, 
Thy cheek, where the white and red rose play. 
Thy cherub smile and thy heart so gay, 
Thy voice, as sweet as the summer's sea. 
Or the zephyr light on the verdant lea, 
And thy angel form, all of earth are less 
Than of yonder sweet home of happiness. 



B U D,S AND FLOWERS. 33 



Roll it out yet once again ! 

To the breezes of the main ; 
That flag for which our father's bled unfiui! 

Stand firmly to your guns, 

Columbia's gallant sons, 
And their thunders on the vaunting Briton hurl. 

Nail it firmly to the mast, 

And amid the battles blast 
Swear that there shall float that banner of renown, 

Till the icy wand of death 

Shall have still'd each patriot breath. 
Or each brow is bound with vict'ry's laurel crown. 

Swear ye all, that in its pride, 

O'er the ocean's azure tide, 
That blood-bought flag our patriot father's gave — 

Till that ocean laves no more 

Fair Columbia's happy shore. 
Unsullied by a foeman's hand shall wave. 

' Loot ye back on days of yore. 
When unting'd with noble gore, 

Not a billow threw its spray on ocean's strand. 
When the minions of a king. 
Strove, but strove in vain, to fling 

Chains forg'd by dark oppression round our land. 

Then with emulation fir'd. 
With the patriot's glow inspir'd, 

No base thoughts will fill your hearts amid the strife ; 
Your proud motto then will be, 
" We will perish or live free, 

Nobler far were glorious death than coward life !" 



34 1! U D S A N D y L O '.V l". II S , 



:ilae ^iieHisir'^ ^miriliill. 



Bright from the orient rose the orb of day, 

Spreading o'er Banca's isles his rosiest beams, 

And the blue ocean murmuring on its course, 

Its ev'ry ripple clad in rainbow smiles, was ting'd 

With the transcendent rays of beauteous morn ; 

While zeph'rus, from the shore where rosy tints were blent 

With the green foliage, on silken pinions bore 

The sweetest perfumes ; and nature's choristers, 

Sporting mid spicy groves, on flower and tree, 

Join'd with the azure wave in chaunting forth. 

In tones of richest melody, the requiem of the brave. 

No sable pall, nor hearse with waving plume. 
Nor helm, nor shield, was there, a useless pageantry, 
To grace our comrade's bier, — but o'er his form 
Of manly mould was spread, with stripe and star. 
The standard of the free ; beneath whose folds, — 
To win the laurell'd coronet of the brave, — 
He'd stood with fearless bosom 'mid the storm 
Of battle, when rife with wreck and blood, 
Flow'd on its course the dark, unconscious wave. 

Tho' with him none around could kindred claim, 
Firm bosoms throbb'd, and brilliant eyes were wet 
With friendship's tribute ;— tears of deep regret 
Cours'd down the cheeks of men of iron frame, 
Whose hardy bosoms had not known for years 
The wellings of those springs within the heart, 
Whose waters — mantling in the o'erflowing eye, — 
Prove that the kindliest feelings centre there. 

The muffled drum roll'd out in notes of sadness, 
The warrior's funeral dirge ; and round our ship, — • 



BUDS AND FLOWERS. 35 

Which lay like the " Leviathan in slumber on the deep," — 
Old ocean's gentle billows in their gladness roU'd, 
As lannch'd we him, of her proud chivalry the flower, 
Silent and sorrowing 'neath the dark blue wave. 



O, what were earth with all its lovely bowers, 
Its streams of silver and its beds of flowers, 
Without fond woman near its joys to share. 
And add her smiles unto a scene so fair? 

Joyless would be man's pilgrimage thro' life, 
Bereft of friends, without a virtuous wife 
To soothe him, when Adversity had spread 
Her gloomy meshes round his fever'd head. 

Woman, sweet, gentle being, earth though i^air, 
P^ull fraught as 'tis with beauties rich and rare, 
Would bat a wilderness, a desert waste appear, 
Wert thou, its loveliest, sweetest flower, not here. 



She lay upon a bank of flowers, the summer's winds were straying 
Among the roses at her feet and with her ringlets playing; 
She seem'd a being not of earth, — a seraph from the throne 
Of Him, the great Omnipotent, could hold such charms alone; 
Her sylph-like form, her snowy brow, her liquid lips and eyes, 
All spoke that aught so beautiful could come but from the skies. 
No vestal bright, in days of yore, within the heathen Isis, 
Was clad in beauties half so rare ; her breath excell'd the spices 
That on the zephyr's silken wings are borne along the billow. 
And spread their grateful influence round some drowsy Sultan's pillow. 



36 B U D S" A N D V L W E R S , 



\^^tW 



Upon his phantom steed, with sceptrM hand, 
The grizzly tyrant sat and gave command ; 
The peasant and the prince, — the rich and poor, 
The Jew, the Turk, the dandy, and the boor ; 
The virtuous, and the villain steep'd in crime, 
The wise man, and the fool of every clime. 
The heartless coward, and the rashly brave, 
The frowning despot and the servile slave. 
The deaf, the dumb, the bright pyed and the blind, 
The good and bad, both man and womankind, 
The proud, the meek, the homely, and the fair, 
Were all, by Death's decree, commingled there. 

First, War appear'd with thousands in his train 
Of those, by flood and field, in battle slain ; 
His head was bare, but in his dexter hand, 
With fearful strength he grasp'd a glittering brand,- 
Its jewell'd hilt, and blade besmear'd with gore ; 
His other hand a plumeless helmet bore ; — 
He bow'd to Death, and then file after file, 
Pass'd on beneath the tyrant's ghastly smile, 
A horrid sight ; but in the fleshless face 
Of that grim monster, none could pity trace. 
Kino-s, emperors, sultans, satrapse, and schieks. 
Czars, rajahs, Caesars, Incas, and caciq'ues. 
Were, with the hosts by them to battle led, 
Before the mighty conq'ror marshalled; 
But all divested was each noble brow 
Of majesty and glittering cor'net now, — 
No war notes rung — lio silken banners spread 
Their folds above this gath'ring of the dead : 
No falchion'd hand, nor cuirass guarded breast, 
' Nor vizor'd helm, nor shield, nor plumed crest 



BUpS AND FLOWERS. 37 

Was there,— no steed impatient for the fray, 

With clang of armour join'd his furious neigh ; 

No mail-clad warrior now to battle.rush'd — 

But all was silence, all was deeply hush'd. 

As was old Chaos ere the Almighty spoke, 

" Let there be light !" and on the darkness broke 

Day's glorious splendour, ushering to birth 

Blue bosom'd ocean, boundless heaven, and earth ; — 

Death grinn'd a hideous smile, he laugh'd aloud, 

When to their tombs had pass'd this motley crowd. 

Foul Pestilence, with her fever'd eye and brow. 
As led she on her tens of thousands, now 
In servile manner lowly bow'd her head. 
And screaming wildly pointed to the dead, — 
The rich and poor, the cit, and savage wild. 
The hoary headed, and the lisping child 
Of every colour, black, and brown, and fair. 
With haggard features congregated there ; — 
Death smil'd again, wav'd high his bony hand, 
And onward pass'd this wan and hideous band. 

Gaunt Famine next appear'd with visage wan. 
And having bent the knee to Death, pass'd on ; 
Her skinny fingers held a fleshless bone. 
Which ever and anon with plaintive moan 
She wildly gnaw'd, but 'twas a banquet mean, 
For naught was left for her from thence to glean ; 
Her bony hands with talons long unpar'd. 
Were like a vulture's claws; and madness glar'd 
Out from her dark and rolling eye, as in despair 
She fiercely pluck'd her locks of raven hair. 
And cast them from her with a fiendish yell 
That startled e'en the howling imps of hell. 
The young and old were thereof every grade. 
The grey hair'd matron, and the modest maid ; 
The youthful mother, once so fair and mild. 
Who'd fiercely fed upon her new-born child, 



38 BUDS AND FLOWERS. 

And savage men, who for a time had fed, 
To lengthen life, upon the famish'd dead ; 
The wealthy too, but riches could not save, — 
The king and beggar fill'd a common grave;' — 
These pass'd along, and smiling Death look'd on 
Their shadowy figures, and their features wan. 

~ War, Pestilence, and Famine, each could boast 
Her untold thousands ; but the myriad host 
That now in crowded ranks advanced score by score, 
Oulnumber'd e'en the sands on ocean's shore : — 
Intemperance vile, who now her legions led 
Before the tyrant king, and bow'd her head, 
Was clad in gorgeous vesture, and her hair 
Fell down in ringlets o'er her bosom fair; 
An opal rich her rosy forehead grac'd, 
A zone of jewels bright around her waist 
Was neatly clasp'd, and bound the silken vest 
Which lay in graceful folds upon her breast ; 
She bore upon her hand of matchless mould, 
A teeming goblet form'd of bnrnish'd gold ; 
She stood a shrine at which the bond and free 
Had blindly bent the meek and willing knee ; 
She knew her power, — ah ! well her pow'r was prov'd. 
As there her countless victims onward mov'd, 
And grizzly Death, with all approving smile, 
Delighted gaz'd upon their forms the while. 

Next, callous hearted Murder stalk'd along, 
Bow'd low to Death, and show'd his bloody throng ; 
Arm'd with the poison'd cup and deadly knife, 
His all-polluted hands with gore was rife ; 
His robe was spotted o'er with crimson stains, 
And here and there dark gouts of blood and brains 
Hung on his iron limbs and frowning brow, 
And ne'er look'd fiend of hell as Murder now ; — 
His victims pass'd, the tyrant smil'd again, 
As gaz'd he on this wild and bloody train. 



B (T n^S A X D FLO \V K RS . 39 

Next enter'd Suicide, with thoughtless brow, 

And having to the tyrant made her bow, 

Led forth her legions, — what a sight was there ! 

The once gay youth, endow'd with talents rare, 

And every grade, of every clime and hue, 

Pass'd on, and clos'd the Tyrants' Grand Review. 



S^trHUcirmtl ^n; ^Hi^mW. 



I saw her in her cottage home in joyous infancy, 
A thing as guileless as the wave upon a summer's sea, 
Nor noble, nor the lowly born, nor humble, nor the proud, 
Could boast a gem so witching fair as Mellicent St. Cloud. 

Again 1 saw lier, when the rays of girlhood's planet shed 
A halo of unsullied light around her angel head ; 
The fairest of the fair was she, — but (ew were so endow'd 
With beauty, grace, and purity, as Mellicent §t. Cloud. 

Years rolled away, — that peerless one I saw yet once ao-am, 
Around her heart the urchin Love had thrown his golden chain ; 
The brightest of the village belles, the envy of the crowd, 
A thing of matchless loveliness was Mellicent St. Cloud. 

Again I saw her, — but, alas ! her brow how pale and cold, 
Death's icy hand had withered her form of perfect mould ; 
Upon a bier with flow'rets strewn, clad in her winding shroud, 
Lay, shorn of all her loveliness, poor Mellicent St. Cloud. 

The spoiler, with his winning smiles and words of flattery, 
Had come, and thrown a lasting stain upon her purity ; 
Before the chilling blast of shame her lovely head was bow'd. 
And broken-hearted sought the tomb, fair Mellicent St. Cloud. 



40 B U D S A \ D F L O W E R S , 



ox THE DEATH 1' WILLIAM HEXllT HAnHISON 

He needs no gorgeous cavalcade, 

He wants no garlands now, 
For Death his icy hand hath laid 

Upon the conq'ror's brow ; 
But bring the cereaieats of the tomb, 
The sable hearse, the nodding plurne, 
And let Columbia's banner wave 
Its folds above the hero's grave, 
Who bore that banner in its pride, 
By Wabash's stream and Erie's tide, 
When fell the day God's ruddy glow 
In beauty on the conquer'd foe ; 
'Tis meet so proud a pall should grace 
The dauntless hero's resting place. 



What is't that sweetens life and cheers 
Man's bosom when with grief opprest. 

Dispels its varied doubts and fears. 
And lulls its harrowing cares to rest ? 

'Tis woman's love: around her heart 
The warmest, kindliest feelings glow ; 

'Tis her's to soothe Affliction's smart, 
Beguile the mourner of his woe, 

And with her love, pure, fervid, deep, 
Release the sorrow biirthen'd soul 
From gloomy Misery's dark control, 

And bid its every trouble sleep. 



B UDS A N D FLO W E RS. 41 



Tell me not of pleasures flowing 
From the rosy goblet, glowing 
With a bane, though bright it be, 
Deadlier than the upas tree ; 

It has scath'd the brightest blossoms, 
Doom'd to shame the proudest bosoms, 
Dimm'd the shine of Love's pure heaven, 
Friendship's brilliant fetters riven. 
Blighted youth's fond hopes forever, — 
Tell me not,— --oh, never, never 

Tell me of the pleasures flowing 
From the rosy goblet, glowing 
With a bane, though bright it be, 
Deadlier than the upas tree. 

Ere my youth had pass'd away. 
Ere the dawn of manhood's day. 
Whelmed was this bosom's pride 
In the goblet's damning pride ; 
IScorn will haunt my steps forever, — 
Tell me not, — oh, never, never 

Tell me of the pleasures flowing, 
From the rosy goblet, glowing 
With a bane, though bright it be, 
Deadlier than the upas tree. 

Friends, the kindest, smil'd upon me. 

Ere the beaming goblet won me, 

And beneath its wild control, 

Held in fiery chains my soul ; 

Last to me those friends forever, — 

Tell me not, — oh, never, never 

Tell me of the pleasures flowing 
From the rosy goblet, glowing 
With a bane, though bright it be, 
Deadlier than the upas tree. 



42 ' B U D S A N D 1 L O W E R S . 

Better quaff the lava rushing, 
With infernal fires flushing, 
Down the red volcano's side, 
Than the goblet's blasting tide ; 
It will stain the soul forever ; — 
Tell me not, — oh, never, never 

Tell me of the pleasures flowing 
• From the rosy goblet, glowing 
With a bane, though bright it be. 
Deadlier than the upas tree. 



®i^mir t^ mtr, 



Come to me, lov'd one ! when the roseate hue. 
Thrown by the day God o'er yon boundless blue, 
Hath pass'd away, and twihght's wavy shade 
Hath fall'n on bush and bower, hill and glade ; 
When birds have hush'd their thrilling melody. 
On mount and dell, and flower and forest tree, 
And myriad stars, as brilliant as thine eyes, 
Their rays are spreading o'er the evening skies, 
And Luna throws her beams of silver light, 
Around the gera-encrusted robe of night. 

Come to me, lov'd one ! thou wilt not forget 
The vine-clad bower where we oft have met, 
The streamlet murmuring o'er its pebbly bed. 
The shady grove with velvet verdure spread ; 
'Tis there that I would say adieu to thee. 
Whom 1 have lov'd so long and ardently, — 
'Tis there, when silence reigns, that I would tell 
My hopes and fears, and bid a long farewell 
To thee, whose every pulse I'm sure is mine, 
As well thou knowest, all I bear are thine. 



BUDSAXDFLOWERS. 43 

Come to me, lov'cl one ! and we once again 
Will tread the flowery hill, the grassy plain. 
And, as along the gurgling brook we rove. 
Will each to each recount our tale of love ; 
And there, beneath yon cloudless canopy. 
Will I once more, upon my bended knee. 
Swear by the silent night's enamell'd brow, 
That thou, my lov'd and only one, that thou • 
Shalt, first of all, within this bosom dwell 
Until we meet again, then bid farewell. 



ox THE CAPTURE AND BURJflJTG OF aUAlIAH BATTOO, BT THE CREW OF THE 
UNITED STATES SHIP POTOMAC, ON THE 6tH OP FEBRUART, 1832. 

Slowly the sun sought his watery pillow, 

Throwing his tresses of gold o'er the wave ; 
Lightly the zephyr danced over the billow, 
Gracefully waving the flag of the brave. 

Through ocean's azure bed, 

Swiftly our vessel sped, 
Wreathing her crest with a chaplet of snow ; 

Brightly around her bow, 

White as a maiden's brow, 
Sparkled the spray 'neath the sun's ruddy glow. 

Bold hearts and true for the melee were ready ; 

Moon-beams were dancing on musket and glaive ; 
Our watch-word was whisper'd : " Ho ! steady boys, steady !" 
As our cutters like lightning flew over the wave. 
Luna spread her silver light. 
Far o'er the face of night. 
Guiding to glory the brave and the free ; 
O'er Ophir's em'rald head. 
Morning's first beams were shed. 
And fell far and fair on the murmuring sea. 



44 B U D S A N D F I, O W E R S . 

Loudly the surf its rude melody chaunted, 

Rearing its foam crested billows on high, 
While landed in silence, each bosom undaunted, 
The tars of Columbia, to conquer or die. 

Bold hearts and true were there, — 
Hearts, born the fight to dare. 
Scorning the life of the coward and slave, 
Sought mid the battle's din, 
Fame's brilliant wreath to win, 
Or, cover'd with glory, a warrior's grave. 

Unconscious of danger the proud foe were dreaming, 

Of foray by field, and of slaughter by flood. 
While o'er them the sword of th' Avenger was gleaming, 
Awaiting the signal to revel in blood. 

Shrill blew the clarion then ; 

Many a hill and glen 
Echo'd its notes from their bosoms of green ; 

Fierce rose the savage yell, 

Thickly the foemen fell, 
Carnage was rife o'er that beautiful scene. 

Red roll'd the flames thro' the blue dome of heaven, 

Tinging the foliage of mountain and dell ; 
Fierce fought the foe till their ramparts were riven, 
And Mohammed's banner, the proud crescent fell. 
Then wav'd our stripes and stars, — 
Then cheer' d Columbia's tars ; — 
Victory smiles on the brave and the free, — 
Roll out the scroll of fame. 
Write with a pen of flame. 
Triumphant again are the sons of the sea. 



Oh for those sunny days again. 

When life's young spring was in its prime ! 



B IT D S A N D F L W E R S . 45 



Dark was the morn, — with bleeding feet, 
O'er fields of ice, through snow and sleet, 
A spartan band push'd on to meet 

Their mercenary enemy. 
The ice-bound Delaware was cross'd. 
And on its banks, 'mid snow and frost, 
By winter's tempests wildly toss'd, 

Roll'd out the flag of liberty. 

Beneath its silken folds, the brave 
Had sworn to fill a soldier's grave. 
Or, boldly fighting, shield and save 

Their homes from British tyranny. 
There, side by side, both sire and son, 
Commanded by our Washington, 
March briskly onward 'neath the dun 

Of heaven's stormy canopy. 

The foe are sleeping, and in dreams, — 
Beneath the day God's rosy beams, — 
They wander near the cooling streams 

Of their own native land ; 
Their wives and mothers far away, 
Their aged sires and children gay, 
And scenes belov'd, in bright array 

On memory's tablets stand. 

These sweet illusions cannot last : 
Hark ! even now the trumpet's blast, 
And tramp of armed warriors fast 

The death-like silence break. 
They come ! they come ! that patriot band 
Is on them now, with deadly brand, 
And fearless heart and steady hand. 

For freedom is the stake. 



46 BUDS AND FLOWERS. 

Some, springing from their beds, are met 
With glittering glaive and bayonet, 
And fight, on every side beset, 

A soldier's grave to win ; 
While here a few who dare not die, 
With coward hearts for mercy cry, 
Or, struck with terror, wildly fly 

To 'scape the battle's din. 

On milk-white steed, with God-like form, 
Where thickest falls the battle's storm,— 
By powers above preserved from harm, — 

Our Washington we see'; 
Thro' smoke and flame, with flashing glaive, 
Now speeds the bravest of tli^e brave. 
With stalwart arm outstretch'd to save 

The conquer'd enemy. 

The fight is o'er, the field is won. 
And many a form the last day's sun, 
In life its rays had thrown upon, 

Now lies in Death's embrace ; 
Or with the warm blood trickling slow 
From bullet wound, or deadly blow, 
Writhes painfully on bed of snow. 

As life now ebbs apace. 

The mother's woe, — ah ! who may tell, 
As tolls the mournful funeral knell. 
For those who bravely fought and fell 

On Trenton's snowy plains ; — 
Her manly boy mayhap is here. 
With none to drop Afiection's tear 
Above his rude and bloody bier, 

Or soothe his dying pains. 

The Delaware o'er its rocky bed, 
Shall sing the requiem of the dead ; 
The verdant turf above them spread, 

Their cenotaph shall be ; 



BUDSANDFLOWERS. 47 

And myriad thousands yet unborn, 
Shall sing the glories of that morn, 
When freedom's phalanx pluck'd a thorn 

From out the wreath of liberty. 



#tyit? ®aili sim^ it^ #^air< 



Were you ever in love, gentle reader ? If not, 

And you wish to keep clear of that passion, beware 

Of a city, — on earth the most beautiful spot, — 

Where the men are half gods, and the women as fair 

As that goddess of yore, whom 'tis said was sea-born, 

Or the nymphs that old ocean's bright chambers adorn. 

Fairy forms, velvet cheeks, rosy lips, brilliant eyes. 

Snowy hands, placid brows, pearly teeth, matchless feet, 

Voices bland as the airs of an April's blue skies. 

Let you turn where you may, you are certain to meet 

In that city where all is as fair to the sight. 

As the stars on the robe of a clear summer's night. 

Arm yourself as you may, yet you cannot escape 

That saucy young rogue, laughing Cupid, whose darts 

Fly around you on every hand, in the shape 

Of such eyes as must pierce the most stoical hearts. 

But one day in a city with beauties so rife, 

By the mother of Cupid, were worth a whole life. 

The metropolis proud of the despotic Russ, 

France's pride, and that smoke blacken'd place on the Thames, 
With the once queenly Lima, 'bout which such a fuss 

Has been made by the trav'ller, — with others, whose names 
It were useless to mention, I've seen, and will swear 
They, with that which I sing of, in nought can compare. 



48 BUDSAND FLOWERS. 

AVoiild you know where that place is, so far above all 
That we read of in story, for fair ones, and men, 

Sure the modern Apollo's of this spheric ball, 
I will tell you, my friend, 'tis the city of Penn, 

That home of the fairest, the bravest, and best. 

That spot of all spots 'neath the sun the most blest. 



TO THE MEMORY OF LIEUT. S. B. S., OF PKlJfCETOJf, S. J. 

Green rise the velvet turf above the grave. 
Where rest the ashes of the seaman's pride ; 

I would his sepulchre had been the wave, 
Where navies in embattled beauty ride. 

He should have died, — O, yes, he shoidd have died 
Upon the wave, where he so lov'd to be. 

Where freedom's banner floats in all its pride, 
Above the forms of ocean's chivalry. 

Then iron men, a rough but generous crew. 

Had launch'd his manly form beneath the wave ; 

His place of rest had been the waste of blue, 
His noblest cenotaph some coral cave. 

His was the cheek that never blanch'd before 
The deepest thunders of the howling gale, 

When gallant ships were sinking 'mid the roar 
Of ocean's waters, and the brave grew pale. 

But this is classic ground where rests his head, 
Here patriot's fought, — here gallant Mercer fell ; 

'Mid Princeton's smiling scenes his spirit fled ; 
Here mourning friends receiv'd his last farewell. 



BUDSANDFLOAVERS. 49 






Thou knoivest, lov'd and dearest, I have oft, 

In lowly adoration, as at some holy shrine. 
Knelt at thy feet, and press'd thy fingers soft. 

And sworn that thou wert lovely, — nay, divine. 
Ah ! well, too well, methinks, thou knowest too, 

That life to me ^Yel*e nought if thou should'st turn 
Away from me those orbs of brilliant blue, 

And in thy tyranny my humble prayers spurn. 

Tongue may not tell how beautiful thou art ; 

'Twere 'bove the fairest limner's skill to trace 
Thy perfect features ; but I fear thy heart 

Hath not its index in thy lovely face. 
Upon thy snowy brow sits Innocence express'd. 

And Virtue beams in thy transcendent eyes ; 
Upon thy glowing lips Love stands confess'd. 

And sweet Benevolence in all thy features lies. 

How well, how ardently, I've loved thee. 

Thou dearest, fairest, thou alone can'st say, 
Is it then, bright one, is it thus to be 

Forever ; must I longer kneel and pray 
For one sweet word, from her I've lov'd more 

Than woman fair, upon this smiling earth. 
By less than God, was ever lov'd before, 

Howe'er exalted may have been her worth ? 



A beam of pleasure lit his eye, 

A flush was on his brow, 
While grateful thousands rais'd on high 

The shout of triumph now ; 
The conqueror felt his bosom glow, 
With pulses such as few may know. 
7 



50 BUDSANDFLOU'ERS. 



The gates of day are backward roU'd, 
Upon each hinge of burning gold ; 
And Sol, as rides he up the sky, 

From his wing'd chariot, drawn 
By steeds in sheen capar ison, 

Dispels the sombre shades of dawn, 
All Nature painting gorgeously. 
Underneath his beamy crown, 

Over shoulders broad and fair. 
Tress on tress, in brilliance down, 
Falls in grace his amber hair, 
Lighting the pellucid spray, 

Playing ocean's bosom o'er. 
And the wave that melts away 
On its silver sanded shore. 
With lavish hand. 
O'er all the land, — 
On the mountain and the hill, 
On the fountain and the rill. 
On the flowers that exhale 
Odours on the passing gale. 
Over grove, and grain, and mead, — 
Are his beauteous colours spread. 



-^ is 5^ -i^ 5^ -X; * * * * 5^ 



The stars may pale, the moon may fail 

To rear her silver crest ; 
The sun may pour his rays no more 

Along the purpling west ; 
The robe of night, with jewels bright. 

No more may glad the eye. 



BUDSANDFLOWERS. 51 

Nor blushing day, in bright array, 

Ride up the orient sky ; — 
On early wing, the lark may sing 

His matin song no more ; 
Nor ocean's wave in beauty lave 

Its silver sanded shore ; 
The smiling plain may ne'er again 

Its vernal tints unfold ; 
Nor Flora's brow be twined as now, 

With wreathes of wavy gold : 
But ever shall my memory, 

My brightest, fairest one, 
Be hallow'd by a thought of thee. 

Whom I have lov'd alone. 



' - Earner, 

ON THE DEATH OF CAPTAIN JAMES lAAVKENCE, V. S. N. 

Roll, roll, the muffled drum, 

Let the flag of freedom wave, 
While stranger hands his manly form, 

Lay in a warrior's grave. 

The sight of Albion's ruddy cross, 

Shall glad his heart no more ; 
That noble heart is mould'ring now, 

Upon the foeman's shore. 

As dauntless sailors love to die, 
'Mid wreck, and flame, and blood, 

Our hero met a glorious death, 
Upon the ocean flood. 

His dying words, to those who roam 
The blue and laughing sea, — 

" My heroes ! don't give up the ship !" 
A watchword long will be. 



52 B U D S A N D 1" L O W i; R S . 

Roll, roll the muffled drum, 
Our Lawrence is no more; 

His manly form is mould'ring now 
Upon the foeman's shore. 



Why weep'st thou, fair mothei: ? why throbs thy young heart, 
With such pulses alone as may sorrow impart? 
What is it that causes that bosom's deep sigh 
That shade on thy brow, and that tear in thine eye ? 

Why weep'st thou, fair mother? say, why dost thou mourn ? 
Why flow thy dark tresses dishevell'd and lorn? 
Why courses the tear drop adown thy soft cheek ? 
What grief fills thy bosom the tongue may not speak ? 

Why weep'st thou, fair mother ? dost grieve that thy boy. 
Has been call'd by his God to the regions of joy, 
From this life's lugged highway, its cares, and its wiles^ 
To exist in the light of his Saviour's sweet smiles ? 

Why weep'st thou, fair mother? tho' down to the tomb, 
Thy first born hath gone in the pride of his bloom ; 
His soul, in the robe of sweet innocence drest, 
Hath ascended to joy in the realms of the blest. 

Why weep'st thou, fair mother? thy lov'd one e'en now, 
With a cherub's bright halo encircling his brow, 
Unites in a song with the blest, near the throne 
Of a king, 'neath whose sceptre no sorrows are known. 

Then weep not, fair mother ! 'twere better to part, 
In his halcyon days, with the pride of thy heart, 
Than to see him a wreck on the world's troubled sea, — 
Of its tempests the sport, and a sorrow tp thee. 



B U D S A N D F L O W E R S . 53 



Cari 



Come, gentle sirs, come buy 

My flowers rich and rare ; 
Here are those of every dye. 

Modest presents for the fair. 

Here are roses, red and white ; 

Lovely lilies geram'd with dew ; 
Here are tulips all so bright, 
.And sweet violets of blue. 

Here is " heart's ease" for the swain 
Who has -felt his passions slighted ; 

Who has lov'd, and lov'd in vain, 
And whose fondest hopes are blighted. 

Here's the marigold that turns. 
In its mute and matchless love^ 

On the day god while he burns 
In yon boundless blue above. 

Thus sweetly sang the flower girl ; 

But few were fair as she ; 
■Her neck was whiter than the pearl 

Beneath the Indian sea. 

'Twas form'd in nature's fairest mould, 

And ev'ry golden curl 
That o'er its fair proportions roll'd, 

Were ransom for an earl. 

As clear, as bright, as purely blue, 

As is the autumn's sky. 
From 'neath its lash of raven hue. 

Shone out her sun-bright eye. 



54 BUDSANDFLOWERS. 

The dazzling halls of fairy land can boast of nought so fair, 
As was that pearl, the flower girl, with locks of golden hair. 
And eyes that sparkled like the wave upon a moon-lit sea ; 
Its queen herself, the tiny elf, was not so fair as she. 

Who would not love the flower girl, so beautiful and bright. 
With form so fair and features rare, and step as eether light ? 
That snarling dog Diogenese had felt his bosom glow, 
Could he have seen her eye so sheen and neck of purest snow. 



Thou art gone ! but why deplore thee ? 

Tears and sighs were worse than vain ; 
Sorrows pangs will not restore thee 

To our loving arms again ; 
Would they, it were sin to call thee 

From thy joyous home above, 
Where the arms of seraph's thrall thee, 

With a more than earthly love. 

Thou art gone ; but should the bosom 

Swell with grief when earthly flowers 
In the bud are scath'd, to blossom 

Brighter in celestial bowers ? 
Nay, it were a blissful feeling 

That the lov'd and lost have place. 
With the spotless spirits kneeling, 

Joyful, round the throne of grace. 

Thou art gone ; but ties must sever ; — 

Often are we call'd to part. 
By Death's stern decree, forever, 

With the lov'd and high of heart ; 
And how happier the condition 

Of the plants that wither here, 
But to rise to bright fruition, „ 

In a higher, nobler sphere. 



BUDSANDFLOWERS. 55 

Thou art gone ; and she who bore thee, 

Nor thy aged sire may ne'er 
Wet the turf that rises o'er thee, 

"With affection's brilliant tear ; 
But how sweet the solace given ; 

Soothing ev'ry pulse of pain, — 
That, to part no more, in heaven, 

They and thou shall meet again. 

Thou art gone ; may lightly o'er thee 

Wave the grass and flowers that bloom, 
Cherish'd by the friends that bore thee. 

Sorrowing, to an early tomb. 
H*****, there were few who peer'd thee, 

And thy virtues are enshrin'd, — 
Virtues which to all endear'd thee, 

In the hearts thou'st left behind. 



#mr ©am n^t ^ gpiitf^^a^e 

How much of good, how much of ill is spread 

Around this charming place, where'er we tread ; 

How much of wealth and poverty we see, 

How much of wrong and squalid misery ; 

Here stands a beggar, there a lady fair, — 

The first in rags, the last in jewels rare. 

Some starve, or force a livelihood by stealth, 

While others unconcern'd may roll in wealth, 

And sport their tinsell'd robes, and pearls of price, — 

Strong proofs our city's not a Paradise. 

Here holy temples rear their lofty towers, — 
There lies a field of dead bestrewn with flowers ; 
Here is an office where they lives insure, — 
There, brazen quacks, with nostrums known to cure j 
The one insures your life with grey goose quill, 
The other takes it with a poisonous pill. 



56 BUDSANDFLOWERS. 

Here, pockets empty, and their debts unpaid, — 
Our public squares and paves promenade, 
In broad-cloth coats and silken pantaloons, — 
Things less like men than Afric's cape babboons ; 
There stands a gloomy prison fill'd with vice, — 
More proofs our city's not a Paradise. 

Here stands a court-house, where, at any time. 

The eye may rest upon the tools of crime. 

And see blind Justice, — -nay, she is not blind. 

Not here, at least, — in galling fetters bind 

The light ofFehce, if, sad perchance, it be' 

Clad in the garb of chilling poverty ; 

While murder, arson, incest, treason, rape. 

Display the mighty dollar and escape ; — 

Here Teague O'Mull got five years for a riot, 

While three Avere all they gave to Dr. Dyott ; 

And here, that English radical, with breast. 

As foul and fcetid as a harpy's nest, — 

That fiend in human shape, — the murderer Wood, 

His hands imbrued in a daughter's blood. 

Held up the dollar to corruption's view. 

And cheated Ketch, the hang-man, of his due. 

But rioting is worse, I must confess, 

Than swindling widows and the fatherless, — 

Or, in a furious drunken fit, to slaughter 

An amiable, and all-accomplished daughter; — 

As Paddy often swears, " by this and that," 

Those rascals each deserved a hemp cravat. 

Here, after swearing oaths, not loud but deep, 

The wooden-headed jurors fall asleep. 

And childless judges have the power to doom 

The friendless prisoner to a living tomb. 

Be sharp, or they'll convict you in a trice, — 

More proofs our city's not a Paradise. 

Here stands a theatre, where one may see 
Mock kings and queens in their tinselry ; 



BUDS AND F L O W E R S ; 57 

And fair, frail woman, with her wanton wiles, 
Her painted features clad in winning smiles, 
And person deck'd with splendid drapery. 
In the third row and punch-rooms one may see. 
And here, too, may be seen the fair Celeste, 
Who cuts her graceful pigeon- wings half drest; 

* * * * * * * 

Also, another jade, not quite half clad. 
About whose pirouettes the world is mad, — 
The famous Fanny EUsler, whom the asses 
That sport mustachios and quizzing glasses. 
Have call'd divine, against the standard rules 
By which' we judge of beauty, — O, the fools ! 
Such scenes as these, 'tis true, are very nice. 
But still our city's not- a Paradise. 

Here stands a grog shop, — there a grand hotel, 
Both flaming panders to a common hell ; — 
At one the almost ruined drunkard deals, 
Than homeward to his starving fam'ly reels ; 
And here, the bloated wretch with tatter'd coat, 
Comes trembling in to spend his hard-earned groat, — 
His senses steep'd in scorching alcohol, 
His soul immortal in the devil's thrall. 
The other boasts a custom more genteel : 
Here men of wealth and daring sportsmen deal ; 
The merchant with his pocliets amply stor'd. 
In search of city goods, here takes his board ; 
Here old and young we see of all religions. 
With gamblers, neatly clad, in search of pigeons. 
And many a dashing blade, and mincing dandy. 
Comes here to dine and sip his wine and brandy. 
Grog shops and grand hotels are schools of vice, 
More proofs our city's not a Paradise. 

Here vile Intemperance, with rosy lip. 
Beckons the unsuspecting youth to sip 
The fount where base-born Dissipation stands, — 
A goblet rich in her polluted hands, — 
8 



BUDS AND FLOWERS. 

Calling the young and old, the bad and good, 
To taste the waters of a poison' d flood ; — 
Here Sensuality, with shameless cheek. 
Displays her painted charms to win the weak ; — 
Here Wisdom, Prudence, Love, and Chastity, 
Are overwhelm'd in Passion's burning sea ; 
And fair-brow'd Honesty has found a grave, 
Where man to gold is now the willing slave. 
From whom, when once the light of reason's gone. 
Dark brow'd Despair stalks in with visage wan. 
Or fearful Madness o'er his feelings flings 
The gloomy shadows of her sable wings. 
Now tell me if this city, with its vice. 
Can be by you esteem'd a Paradise. 



OS THE LOSS OF THE tJIflTED STATES SLOOP HOBNET, 

Supposed to have Foundered in the Gulf of Mexico, in the Fall of 1829. 

Let a seaman tell the tale 

How a vessel of renown. 
When howl'd the fearful gale. 

With her gallant crew went down 
'Neath the billow, off" Tampico's sandy shore ; 
'Twas not mid the battle's din, 

When wreck and blood were rife, 
And when heroes seek to win 

Fadeless laurels in the strife, 
And the tyrant Death, stalks surfeited with gore. 

'Tis a tale of other days, 

'Tis no fiction of the brain ; 
'Tis a theme of myriad lays. 

That shall grace my humble strain ; 



BUDSANDFLOWERS. 59 

'Tis no story drawn from the legendary lore ; 
'Tis the fate of those who sleep 

On the ocean's coral bed, 
Where shall rest they till its deep, 
And the earth give up their dead, 
And old Time shall wing his rapid flight no more. 

Lurid red the orb of day 

Sank to rest beneath the wave, 
And its last, departing ray 

Threw its light upon the brave, 
As they reef 'd the pliant canvass in the storm ; 
Undaunt'd glow'd each breast. 

While the tempest gaiher'd wrath, 
An<l the wave with hoary crest, 

Wildly rushing round their path, 
Threw its spray on noble brow and manly form. 

Fierce, still fiercer grew the blast ; 

The sails to shreds were riven. 
And shatter'd ev'ry mast. 

The thunder-bolts of heaven ; 
Above, around the ruddy lightning play'd. 
But, with bosoms void of dread, 

And unpal'd, each rugged brow, — 
As their gallant vessel sped 

Through the boiling billows now — 
Stood the vet'ran and the sea-boy undismay'd. ^ 

Gun, shot, and shell were launch'd 

Quick as light upon the wave, 
And each cheek remain'd unblanch'd. 

As they strove in vain to save 
Their devoted ship, borne wildly 'fore the gale. 
From each royal truck to deck. 

Mast and yard were cut away ; 
That proud vessel, now a wreck. 

On the welt'ring billows lay, 
And bosoms fiU'd with fear, and brows grew pale. 



60 BUDSANDFLOWERS- 

Then bent the suppliant knee, 

Then bo.w'd the stubborn neck ; . 
'Bove the billows revelry, 

On that vessel's storm-beat deck, 
Their voices six-score souls for mercy rais'd ; 
While'the spirit of the storm, 
In mockery on his throne, 
Rearing high his shad'wy form, 
How^l'd aloud his tempest tone, 
And fiercely bright the lurid lightning's blaz'd. 

Brilliant eyes were wet with tears ; 

From proud bosoms that had known. 
Not a. thrill of fear for years, 
Rose despair's terrific groan; 
As the last sweet ray of hope forever fled. 
Deeply silent they await 

The dread signal-fire of doom, 
While the hand of sombre fate. 
Waves them to a watery tomb. 
To mingle with the ocean's myriad dead. 

Ev'ry boy and vet'ran there, 

Felt his hardy bosom glow 
With the'feelings of despair, ' 

With unutterable woe, 
■ As the reckless past was open'd to review. 
Then arose the fearful cry. 

As the billow, black as night. 
With. its foaming crest on high, 

Rolling onward in its might, 
Pass'd above the gallant Hornet and her crew. 

Columbia long shall weep. 

For her Norris, and the bravBs 
Who are sleeping death's long sleep, 
'Mong the ocean's coral caves ; 
Brilliant meteors from her Constellation torn. 



BUDS AND FLOWERS. 61 

And many a sailor's brow, 

Shall a shade of sadness wear,' — 
.As that stormy gulf they plough, — ^^ . 
At the fate of those who there, 
•By '.the dark and angry billows down were borne. • 

From the aged mother's eye 

Love's bright tear shall wet the cheek, 
And her bosoni heave the sigh 

Of a grief she may not speak, 
When her memory turns to him she lov'd so well. 
Let us hope they were forgiven ; " 

Let us trust that unseen Power, 
Yon bright and glowing heaven, 

Hatlx made the matchless dower 
Of those tars of whom the waves have sung the knell. 



****7^7i!**** 



I cannot forget thee ! those angelic eyes, 
As brilliant yet bland as Italia's skies. 
Are near me when dreams of Elysium roll 
Their magical influence over my soul. 

I cannot forget thee ! that exquisite lip, 
Whence Cupid a banquet of nectar might sip. 
In its roseate beauty hath power to move 
The heart of the savage to thrillings of love. 

I cannot forget thee ! that forehead so fair, 
O'ershadowed by ringlets of raven dark hair. 
Is ever before me, and round it is flung 
A beauty more perfect than poet e'er sung. 

I cannot forget thee ! thy cheek's rosy bloom. 
Is unequall'd in hue by the tints that illume 
The brow of the spouse of king Oberon, when 
A levee she holds in some beautiful glen. 



62 BUDSANDFLOWERS. 

I cannot forget thee ! the lyre of love, 

From its slumbers awoke by the spirits above, 

Emits not a music so svv^eet as the tone 

I have listen'd to oft, in thy warblings alone. 



Their deeds are stars on histr'y's page ; 

No other land beneath the sun. 
Can boast so bright a heritage 

As that by our fore-father's won ; — 
They battled not for fame or power ; 

They conquer'd that they might be free, 
And leave their sons the priceless dower. 

Of pure, untrammell'd liberty. 

Our Eagle, as he plum'd his wings. 

And sought his eerie in the sky, 
Look'd down upon the tools of kings. 

With proud defiance in his eye ; 
And hover'd, with his silver crest, — 

Each limb as heaven's zephyrs free, — 
Above this Eden of the West, 

While patriot's struck for liberty. 

That fearless, that devoted band, — 

When proud, exulting Britain first 
With hirelings sought Columbia's strand, 

And like a fierce volcano burst 
Upon her green and smiling plains, — 

Unfurl'd the standard of the free, 
And hurl'd oppression's galling chains, 

Beneath the feet of liberty. 

Where are those dauntless heroes now, 
That phalanx of the true and brave ? 

'Neath freedom's soil each laurell'd brow, 
And noble hearthath found a grave. 



BUDSANDFLOWERS. 63 

And shall they be forgotten ? No ! 

R^member'd ever shall they be, 
Whose patriot bosoms urg'd the blow 

For God, for home, for liberty. 



OF A PKISONEH ON E E G A I If I N G HIS LIBEHTT- 

O, I am free, or has my brain imbib'd some phantasy : — 
Have baseless visions thrown their sweet, deceptive imag'ry 
Around my senses, but to add a ten-fold pang to pain ? 
If this be so, as well it may, I'll ne'er believe again. 

Am I not free ! do I not hear the bird upon the spray ? 
O, yes, in yonder heaven shines the glorious orb of day ; — 
The glowing sky, bud, bush, and flower, the sun-beam on the lea, 
In peerless beauty fill my eye, and whisper " thou art free !" 

O, sweet, untrammell'd liberty, I'm with thee once again ! 
The laughing ripple on the lake, the breeze upon the main, 
The forest's gorgeous livery, the island's emerald shore, 
Have all put on their sweetest smiles to welcome me once more. 

0, how I've long'd to see the sun shake from his golden pinions 
Unnumber'd rays of burnish'd light around his broad dominions ; 
To see the moon, in diadem 
Enrich'd with many a peerless gem, 
Throw o'er the Ethiop brow of night 
Her beams of beauteous, mellow light. 

O, how I've long'd to roam again the wild wood and the glen ; 
To mingle in the revelry with brave and high soul'd men ! 

The deep to roam, the gale to brave ; 

The sea my home, my tomb the wave ; 

To seek amid the battles din 

A glorious death, or strive to win 

A wreath, whose dazzling leaves might cast 

Oblivions shade around the past. 



64 • B U D S A N D r L W E R S-. 

O, how I've long'd to see the earth in verdant livery drest, 
To hear a kind word from the friends by whom I was caress'd ; 
A.ye, often in my solitude, did faithful memory linger 
Around the scenes of happier days, and with her golden finger 
Point to the flowing bowl, whose poison'd stream 
. Hath shorn my prospects of their brightest dream. 



He knelt beside his aged mother's bier, 

That mother on whose breast in infancy, 
His head had oft been pillow'd, but no tear 

Cours'd his swart cheek to tell the agony 
That fill'd his seared heart : nay, all too deep 
The grief that centr'd there ; he could not weep. 

But from his inmost soul, where long the flarne 
Of black Ingratitude's fell torch had thrown 

Its foul, infernal light, and withering shame, 
Sat triumphing, burst many a fearful- groan. 

As back upon the past its thoughts were flung, 

And dark Remorse his bleeding conscience wrung. 

Beside that humble grave, the reckless past. 

His froward course, his curs'd ingratitude, 
And ev'ry deed which serv'd his name to blast, " 

In bold relief upon his memory stood ; — 
And as he gaz'd upon that sullied scroll, 
He felt a hell within his tortur'd soul. 

For him that doating mother's heart had bled ; 

For him, those eyes, now lying glaz'd and cold. 
The tears of pity, shame, and grief had shed ; — 

Ah, she had lov'd him with a love untold ! 
Nought but the hand of death had power to move 
The lasting basis of that mother's love. 



BUBS A N B FLOWERS. &S~ 

Uprais'd his tearless eyes and folded hands, 
As knelt the ingrate there, with burning brow, 

Call'd he upon his God to burst the bands 
Of vice, that bound his soul to misery now ; 

And there, his proud and wilful heart subdued, 

Sought pardon for his base ingratitude. 

He left that lowly grave, and roam'd the world, 

Without a friend to whom he might impart 
His many sorrows ; all his hopes were hurl'd, 

Blasted upon its waters, and his heart 
With aught allied to joy no longer beat. 
For there Remorse had fix'd her gloomy seat. 



(§ymm Ml$i 



Some women, sure, are half divine ; 

But there is one among them all. 
For whom I would that I might twine 

A lover's coronal. 

She is not beautiful, but yet 

There is a something in her mien, 

A witchery in her eye of jet. 
That is not often seen. 

She is not rich, but she has wealth. 

Just such as woman's wealth should be, 

A peerless mind, and priceless health, 
And matchless modesty. 

She is not proud, but there is nought, 
More chaste than is her bosom fair ; 

Nor foolish, nor unhallow'd thought, 
Hath ever centr'd there. 
9 



66 B U D S A N D F L W E R S . 

She is not selfish, — nay, the glow 

Of generous feelings warms her heart ; 

And well she knows to others' woe, 
A solace to impart. 

Of womankind, there treads not one 
Along the flow'ry paths of earth, 

So far beyond comparison. 
Of such transcendent worth. 



Aye ! nail it firmly' to the mast. 

That banner of the free, — 
Its stars shall light Columbia's sons 
To death or victory. 

No tyrant hand, shall sully it ; 
No dastard deed shall stain 
The meteor flag of liberty, 
Upon the laughing main. 

Aye ! nail it firmly to the mast. 

And let our battle cry 
Be borne along the ocean wave,— 
We'll conquer or we'll die !— 

No tyrant hand shall sully it ; 
No dastard deed shall stain 
The meteor flag of liberty, 
■ Upon the laughing main. 

Aye ! nail it firmly to the mast. 
Its glittering folds shall flow, 
In beauty, o'er the brave and free, 
Till planets cease to glow. 

No tyrant hand shall sully it ; 
No dastard deed shall stain 
The meteor flag of liberty, 
Upon the laughing main. 



BUDSANDFLOWERS. 67 






Tlie fiat has gone forth ! we part forever, 

The golden chain that bound our hearts is broken ;- 

We meet no more, but memory's pages never 
Shall lose a trace of all the vows thou'st spoken. 

The fiat has gone forth ! the vows we plighted, 
Are to the charter'd winds of heaven strewn ; 

My fondest hopes of happiness are blighted ; 
Doom'd am I now to tread the world alone. 

How many a bright and soothing dream of pleasure 
Will breathing but one little word dispel f — 

We part forever ! Fate hath fill'd the measure 
Of my soul's sadness ! dearest, fare thee well ! 



WRITTEN OJT THE F I K S T OF A NEW TEAH. 

Borne on the wings of fleeting Time, away 

Hath pass'd, with varied change, another year ; 

While many a bending form hath prov'd his sway, 
Full many an eye hath shed affection's tear 

For friends belov'd, in whom their souls were wrapt. 

Whose thread of life death's iron hand hath snapt. 

Bosoms full fraught with bright imaginings. 
Of sweet prospective joys in years to come, 

Have fall'n beneath the ruthless tyrant's stings. 
And mould'ring lie within the darkling tomb. 

Thus fade to nothingness life's high wrought schemes ; 

Thus prov'd are earth's vile gauds but airy dreams. 



68 BUDSANDFLOWERS. 

Time's deep-toned voice the mournful requiem 

Of youth and age, of proud and meek, hath sung-;- 

As well the brow where shines a diadem, 

As the rude serfs, must lie earth's dead among; — 

His chariot wheels have roll'd through every land ; 

Nought mortal 'scapes his all-subduing hand. 

How powerful is Time ! yet how serene 
His every movement ; with a noiseless tread 

He visits every bosom, and the scene 

Is not o'er which by him no change is spread. 

Man, ocean, earth, the heavens, in every clime. 
Acknowledge, all, the potent hand of Time. 

Time's changes teach how precious every hour; 

We know, we feel that brief the space must be 
Ere we are ordered, by that unseen Power, 

To launch our barques upon eternity, 
Yet course we on, regardless of his flight, 
Till whelms our souls the gloom of endless night. 



Thy smile is like the golden beam 

That tints the summer's cloud with hues, 
More lovely than the earliest gleam 

Of sunshine o'er morns pearly dews. 
That witching smile, — I see it now, 

Around thy balmy lip 'tis dancing, 
And lightly o'er thy snowy brow 

A rosy tint of mirth is glancing. 



BUD3ANDFL0WERS. 69 

Ah ! would I were that smile, to kiss 

Those nectar oozing lips of thine, 
To revel round that throne of bliss. 

And play with beauties so divine ; — ■ 
I'd hold no other wish, but there 

Would fondly linger day and night ; 
Nor would I leave a home so fair ; 

Nor e'er to other features plight 

My love, to be a sainted thing, 

With god's to hold companionship, 
To live a crown'd and sceptr'd king. 

Or lofty heaven's ambrosia sip. 
There is a something in thy smile. 

That hath the power to dissipate, 
And wholly of my heart beguile, 

The darkest shade of cruel fate. 

Maiden, in many a sunny land, 

I've watch'd the play of peerless features ; 
On many a shore of golden sand, 

I've seen the purest, fairest creatures. 
In many a realm beyond the sea, 

I've gaz'd upon earth's loveliest, 
But, oh, believe me, none like thee, 

In every charm so amply drest. 

Thy virtues in my heart shall rest : — 

On memory's scroll thy sacred name, — 
Like beams from out the rosy west. 

On saucy cupid's darts of flame, 
Shall linger ever, and when death 

Shall come, with all his phantasy, 
The burthen of ray latest breath 

Thy lov'd and cherish'd name shall be. 



70 BUDSANDFLOAVERS. 

The fox may roam the tangled wood, 

The spotted hart the forest tread, 
The dolphin glide the limpid flood, 

The courser sweep the flowery mead; 
Scenes clad in everlasting bloom, 

The painted Indian, wild and rude. 
May wander, but the captive's doom 

Is galling chains and solitude. 

O'er flowery fields, the wilding bee. 

In -search of nect'rine sweets may stray ; 
The bird his dulcet melody 

May chaunt upon the bending spray ; 
But, ah ! what cares the heart consume 

What all-subduing griefs intrude 
Upon the soul of him whose doom 

Is galling chains and solitude. 

The fawn beside its dam may play ; 

The halcyon on its parent's wing 
May dare the wave ; his matin lay 

The soaring lark in freedom sing ; 
But, fated to a living tomb. 

For years on years in woe to brood 
Upon the past, the captive's doom, 

Is galling chains and solitude. 

How bright, how fleeting are the hopes of youth ! 
The gems that fall translucent from the wings 
Of purple morning, and, the sky puts on 
Its carmine tinted drapery to meet 
The amorous sun, vanish, and are no more — 
And the frail flower that opes its velvet cup,* 
Giving its perfume to the early breeze. 
And dying with the day .that saw it bloom, 
Are emblems meet of them. 



BUDSANDFLOWERS. 71 



Sailors, list to one who knows. 

Feels within his heart of hearts, 
All the soul-subduing woes 

Curs'd Intemperance imparts. 
List to one, around whose name. 

Once as fair as thine may be, 
Gather'd by the hand of shame, 

Hang the clouds of infamy. 

Often looks he back on hours, 

When along his pathway strewn, 
Flourish'd friendship's fairy flow'rs. 

And her star in beauty shone. 
But those flow'rs are withered ; 

Pal'd forever are their dyes ; 
Rayless is the star that shed 

Light on boyhood's sunny skies. 

Sailor, 'twas the poison'd wave 

Of the madd'ning bowl that swept, 
Blasted, to an early grave, 

Joys whose loss belong has wept, 
'Neath its baneful current sprung, — 

Scathing in his breast the seeds, 
By the hand of Virtue flung, — 

Black Dishonour's hateful weeds. 

Would were his alone the pain. 

His alone the heart array'd 
In the garb of sorrow, vain. 

At the wreck himself hath made. 
But, alas ! there are who mourn, — 

Friends whose eyes with tears are dim, 
And their hearts with anguish torn, — 

O'er their blighted hopes in him. 



73 BUDSANDF LOWERS. 

Sailor, thy fond parents yet 

Down life's jagged pathway tread, 
Or, mayhaps, their suns have set, 

They are gather'd to the dead. 
Live they sailor, do not blast 

All their high-wrought hopes in thee ; 
Are the)'" dead ; O, do not cast 

Stains upon their memory. 

Never trim thy vessel's sails, 

To the pestilential breath 
Of that sea whose tide exhales 

Infamy, disease and death ; 
Shun it as thou would'st the den 

Of the rav'ning tiger, shun, 
Spurn away the curse of men. 

If thou would'st not be undone. 



********** 



Sure never bow'd before an earthly shrine, 

A form more fair, more fraught with loveliness ; 

A softer cheek, a rosier lip than thine, 

Ne'er felt the summer's zephyrs bland caress. 

Those orbs of light, thy lovely, witching eyes, 
Excel the gems some queenly brow entwining, 

Or stars around Italia's midnight skies, 

Or brilliants 'neath the orient billow shining. 

None but inspir'd pens may hope to trace 
The winning beauty of thy perfect features, 

Or paint thy matchless form's exquisite' grace. 
Thou brightest, fairest of terrestrial creatures. 



BUDSANDFLOWERS. 73 



'mtr ^i^arW. 



How charming is this world of ours ! 

How redolent of perfume borne 
From spicy groves and floral bowers, 

Around us plays the breeze of morn, 
"When nature in the guise of spring, 

With laughing lip and joyous brow, 
Around each scene, where revelling 
Hoar Winter held his court but now. 
Her vernal beauties throws : — 
When, enrob'd in living amber, 
Day's proud monarch leaves his chamber. 
And raising high his ruby crest, 
O'er the ocean's billowy breast, 

With tropic splendor glows ; — 
When along the dappled skies — 
Drawn by coursers gold enshod, — 
Pageant worthy of a god, — 
His refulgent chariot flies. 
Rolling from each opal tiar 
Countless beams of liquid fire, 
All the ambient heavens flaking ; 
And of clouds around him breaking, 
Lighting up each fleecy hem ; 
And, with jewell'd diadem. 
Tinging with prismatic dyes 
All the fairy isles that rise, 
Like emeralds in sapphire set. 
From smiling ocean's coronet. 

Oh, is not this a charming world ! 

Yonder mountains how they rise, 
Vapours round their foreheads curl'd. 

Grandly to the beaming skies. 
10 



74 BUDiSANDFLOAVERS. 

Down the rock with moss o'ergrown, 
Uttering a plaintive moan, — 
As the wind-harp's blandest tone, — 
Heard when on its dying fall, — 
Soothing, sweet, and musical, — 

Glides the bright cascade, 
Verdant vales and flow'ry meads, 

With silver streamlets leaping 
In glee along their pebbly beds, 

And noble rivers sweeping 
Their azure currents to the main, 
Through dark ravine and sunny plain, 

In loveliness array'd, 
From horizon to horizon, 
It glads the eye to look upon. * 

This is the worldling's home — his all ; 

But when the Christian's soul in bliss 
Is freed from its clayey thrall, 

'Twill find a brighter home than this 
Where cloudless skies, pavilioning 
Scenes clad in everlasting spring, 
Their downward glories shed abroad 
Around the Paradise of God. 






Oh, it were bliss to gaze upon 

Thy chaste and lovely brow ; 
To bask beneath the smile of one 
So beautiful as thou. 

The roses on thy cheek to view. 
And in thy laughing eye of blue. 
So brilliant, so entrancing, — 
With bow upon his shoulder flung. 
And quiver at his baldric hung. 
To watch young Cupid dancing. 



BUDSANDFLOWERS. 75 

'Twere bliss supreme could I but hold, 

Within one warm embrace, 
A form of such exquisite mould. 
Of such excelling grace ; 

To, but for one brief instant, press 
That lip of matchless loveliness, 

Thou earth's divinity. 
Or clasp thee to my throbbing heart. 
And all my love for thee impart. 
Were heaven enough for me. 



"Mt %^^u M Bi^ E^m% M UM MiMm^ 



And art thou gone ? thou fair, thou bright eyed one, 

Whose smile was lovelier than the roseate beam, 
That plays in beauty round the evening's sun ! 

Art thou then gone ? whose virtues were a theme 
To hallow e'en the pens of sainted things. 

And throw a radiance o'er the purest page 
By poet trac'd ; — and has thy soul ta'en wings, 

And soar'd away to that sweet heritage, 
That home of endless bliss beyond the tomb. 

Where myriad seraphim, — a countless choir, — 
More beautiful than when in earthly bloom,^ 

Give praises to the Lamb with voice and lyre ! 

Se young, so bright, so beautiful, so chaste. 

Hath the grim tyrant wooed thee to the tomb ! 
And am I doom'd to roam earth's weary waste, 

Without thy smile, its darkness to illume ? 
And does that form of grace and perfect mould, 

That eye of azure, and that placid brow, 
That rosy lip, that hair of burning gold. 

Lie mould'ring in the graves cold precinct's now ? 
Does the vile earth worm revel in that breast 

Where none but virtue's pulses ever beat ? 
And banquet on that heart, where deep imprest. 

The kindliest feelings held a hallow'd seat ? 



78 BUDSANDFLOAVERS. 

It seems but now thy mellow voice I heard. 
Soft as the sighing of a summer's sea. 

Or the sweet music of some gentle bird. 
Filling the floating air with melody. 

Oh, Mirabel ! my own, my loveliest; 

I doated on thee in thy hours of bloom ; . 
I half ador'd thee in thy beauty drest,. 

And all my love is with thee in the tomb ! 
Oft have I thought, — when I have seen thee move, 

A paragon of loveliness, a beauteous thing 
Of wond'rous brightness, form'd alone for love, — 

To see thy more than earthly charms take wing. 
And flee away to that celestial home, 

Where angel spirits pure as is thine own, 
Their voices blending, fill yon azure dome 

With melody to this vile sphere unknown. 
I said thou wert too pure to linger here. 

Thou fairest, once, of all this earth's fair flowers ; 
And now thou'rt gone to grace a loftier sphere. 

And roam with saints among Elysian bowers. 
Oh, Mirabel ! my own, lov'd Mirabel, 

Earth hath no other half so fair as thee ; — 
Thy worth shall ever in this" bosom dwell, 

A sun-beam on the sky of memory. 



Look on those lovely features, — is there aught 
But chastity and meekness blended there ? 

Say ? is not every lineament enfraught 

With heavenly beauty, in that face so fair I 

Scan well that ample brow of snowy whiteness. 
Shaded by graceful braids of golden hair ; 

Look on that full blue eye of soothing brightness. 
And say if aiught unhallow'd lingers there ? 



BUDSANDFLOWERS. 77 

Look at that dimpled cheek ; no forest flower 

In all its, loveliness can boast such hues ; 
And that soft lip ; 'tis laughing Cupid's bower, 

More rife with sweets than Hermon's holy dews. 

The poet, painter, sculptor, each hath striven, 

With art unpeer'd to rival nature's grace ; 
But vain the task, no hand, save that of heaven. 

Can e'er so much unearthly beauty trace. 



No storied urn, nor fluted column rears 

Its sculptur'd beauty o'er the hallow'd spot 
Where rests the warrior of by-gone years ; 
But dark oblivion hath not power to blot, 
From the proud temple on the hill of fame. 
His matchl-ess virtues ;-^— and his glorious name. 
Who, heaven directed, led. a patriot band 
O'er fields of blood, to free -his native land 
-From fetters forg'd by vile oppression's hand. 
Still shines as- brightly as the glowing sun. 
When bursts he. on the orient horizon. 
And shakes his pinions o'er the land and sea : 
That warrior's monument is Liberty ! 

Go ask the shades who was their country's shield. 

When tyrant Britain, from her sea-girt shore. 
Sent forth her scarlet legions to the field. 

And stain'd this Eden with its children's gore ! 
Let Princeton's heights, where gallant Mercer fell. 

And pour'd his life''s blood .out fbr liberty, — 
When Albion's champions bow'd before the free, — 

And Trenton's plains the thrilling story tell. 
Let Monmouth, on whose blood ensanguin'd field,' 
The foe before the shock of freedom reel'd, 
And Yorktown, Saratoga, Bennington, — 
Where Freedom's, phalanx brilliant laurels won ; — 



78 BUDSANDFLOWERS. 

Breed's Hill, and Lexington, — where first the free, 
With fearless bosoms struck for liberty, — 
And Germantown, be monuments to prove 
How fair his courage, — how sublime his love. 

He was no Caesar, with a mail clad band, 

And rutliless bosom, seeking power to sway 
A glittering sceptre o'er his native land, 

And frighting millions with his dread array. 
His bosom knew not, never felt the flame 
That vile ambition kindles in the soul : 
His life was virtuous, and the scroll of fame 
Shall bear the impress of his hallow'd name, — 
Rever'd in ev'ry land, from pole to pole, — 
Till Time's no more, and planet's cease to roll. 



;(ri:il^^we^ Dt? 



TO HIS ACaUAINTANCES, 

On being asked to partake with them in the Inebriating Cup. 

What ! taste that bowl again ? how dare 

Ye tempt me with its wave ? 
Nay ! never more, the poison there 

These lips of mine shall lave ! 
Nay ! never more around my soul 
Shall its defiling current roll ! 
I would not taste that baneful thing 
To be, of earth, the proudest king ! 

What ! taste that bowl again ! and be, 

As once, a grovelling slave? 
Wed crime, and grief, and obloquy. 

And fill a drunkard's grave ? 
Oh ! tempt me not, if ye are men ; 
I will not taste that bowl again ! 
Be mine God's heaviest malison, 
When I from this resolve am won ! 



BUDSANDFLOWERS. 79 



(T ^iiirrafairtr^ 



Oh, talk of rosy Love no more ! 

The winged boy 'neath Mammon's tread 
Hath perish'd, and the darts he bore 

Are broken, and the silken thread, 
With which his silver bow was strung, 

Is sever'd, and his torch is cold. 
And one from earth's base bosom sprung 

Usurps his place : his name is Gold ! 

See at yon holy altar stand, 

A being fairer than the sun ; 
A sacrifice to gold, her hand. 

But not her heart, she gives to one, 
For whom her soul has never known 

The joyous, deep, warm pulse of love ; 
Whose fairest gift, nor kindest tone 

Had power that heart to move. 

In costly vesture view her now ; 

Behold the gems and jewels rare 
That sparkle on her polish'd brow. 

And mingle with her ebon hair. 
This glittering pageantry, how vain ; 

'Tis but a mockery of the woe 
That reigns within, the poignant pain 

Which she alone may know. 

Fond friends to grace the bridal feast. 

Are met, and ev'ry heart with glee. 
Save one, is throbbing ; in her breast 

Sits brooding dark brow'd misery. 
Kind words and many a warm caress 

Are lavished on the hapless bride. 
But fail to calm the deep distress, 

The pain she cannot hide. 



80 BUDS AND FLOWERS. 

In sorrow, on the sire, whose mmd 

Her lover's Avealth, and broad domains. 
And titled name had power to bind 

In sordid Av'rice's venal chains, 
She gazes oft, but from her eye. 

No tear impell'd by: anger steals ; 
While, of her bursting heart, a sigh 

The agony reveals. 

Where' stays the bridegroom ? he is nigh 

The purchas'd one ; her person fair 
Is his, — but, ah ! he could not buy 

Her young, warm heart ; nay, never there. 
For him, shall love's bright planet glow ; 

Never the heart by him unwon. 
Shall burst its springs, with his to flow 

In happy unison. 



Touch not the sparkling bowl ! 

Its brightly bearded stream 
May throw around the soul 

An evanescent beam ; 
But soon that beam will be dispell'd, 
And fled the joy the bosom swell'd. 

Touch not the sparkling bowl ! 

Its ruddy tide will throw 
A sadness o'er the soul. 

And compass it with woe ! 
The asp, or adder, does not bear 
So deep a bane as centres there. 

Touch not the sparkling bowl ! 

Its golden wave beware ; 
'Twill scathe the proudest soul, 

And shade the brow with care ! 
O, touch it not ! its poison'd wave, 
Is but a pander to the grave ! 



BUDSAND FLOWERS. 81 



iPEisiir© DtrHIl 



Flora Dell was the fairest young creature 
E'er seen by my good looking eyes ; 

She, so bright of her face was each feature, 
Was gaz'd on by all with surprise. 

I will tell you some little about it; 

No I wont, though ! for what is the use? 
Yes, I will, and if 't suits you to doubt it, 

Go, you may, if you please, to the deuce. 

By my soul, I'm at loss for beginning! 

Let me think : — I'll commence at the crown. 
And paint, of a creature so winning. 
Each charm from the cranium down. 

With grace, the most exquisite braided, 
And black as the sheen anthracite. 

Her locks, fine as gossamer, shaded 
A brow, as the Eider's down, white. 

Her eye-brows were arched and glossy ; 

The lids white as snow flakes, or milk ; 
Her eyes, 'neath long lashes and flossy, 

Look'd diamonds shining through silk. 

Her nose, I've seen Greeks with such noses ; 

Her lips, cupid's bow, what a pair ! 
Her cheeks, never Spring's ruddy roses, 

Could equal the dyes centred there. 

Her chin did not look like a swelling. 
As some do, but rounded with grace, 

And made up that fair, love-compelling, 
Exceedingly bright thing, her face. 
11 



82 BUDSANDFLOWERS. 

Swan-like was her neck, — don't be blushing, 
My dear little reader, I pray, — 

And the delicate tinge o'er it flushing, 
Was that of the white rose in May. 

Her bosom, I'm sure there's no telling 
The charms of a feature so fair, 

Enough that the rosy boy's dwelling, 
And heart-piercing arrows were there. 

Now, say lovely girl, with the blue eyes. 
Thou sylph with the black, also, tell, 

Did ever thy heart-breaking two eyes, 
See fairer than young Flora Dell ? 



" Every inordinate cup is unbless'd, or the ingredient is a devil." 

Away ! away ! thou sparkling curse, 

There's poison in thy ruddy stream ; 
The shroud of death, the sable hearse. 

Upon thy golden ripples gleam. 
Thy tide the heavy heart may wake 

To feelings of the liveliest joy ; 
But, ah ! it is the gilded snake. 

That fascinates but to destroy. >j 

Away ! away ! accursed thing. 

For well I know accurs'd thou art ; 
Away ! thy baneful tide will bring ^ 

Destruction to the noblest heart. 
Before its blighting influence fall 

The fairest, fondest, hopes of friends ; 
It holds the heavy heart in thrall. 

The silken ties of friendship rends. 



BUDS AND FLOWERS. 83 

Away ! away ! in boyhood's prime, 

Before I knew thy poison'd flood, 
This seared heart was void of crime, 

And virtue on its tablet's stood. 
A father's fond affection threw 

Around my path its brightest beams, 
And in a mother's love I knew 

A life made up of joyous dreams. 

Away ! away ! thy ruddy tide 

Shall ne'er pollute my lips again ; 
Away ! away ! thou art defied, 

I will not wear thy galling chain ; 
For I have learnt how vile thou art, 

And reason hath regain'd her sway ; 
No longer o'er my wounded heart 

Shalt thou have power — away ! away ! 



Eyes, eyes ! woman's eyes. 
Black and hazle, grey and blue, 

Bright as India's sunny skies, — 
Gallants, let me sell them you. 

Here's a pair as black as night, 
Brilliant as the purest gem : 

Never saw ye those so bright, — • 
Gallants, let me sell you them. 

They 're a maiden's, in the first 
Lovely flush of woman's spring. 

Born in penury, and nurs'd 

"Neath Privation's gloomy wing ; 

But of virtue she's possest, — 

Buy them, gallants, and be blest. 



84 BUDSANDFLOWERS. 

Now I'll catch them ! — ^but a glance 
From these liqiiid orbs of light, 

Will the hearts of all entrance, 
If they are not monkies quite. 

Underneath each snowy lid. 

Rosy Love, himself, lies hid. 

Up they go ! come, gallants, all, 
Here are twins beyond compare; 

Never bosom own'd the thrall 
Of a brace so passing fair ; 

They 're the index, you will find, 

Of a pure and lofty mind. 

Not a bid ? ah, foolish me. 

Wasting here my breath for nought. 

When I know that foppery. 
But by bait of gold is caught. 

This, the age of tinselry, 

Laughs at love and purity. 

True it is, that now-a-days, 
Though as simple as the moth 

That around a candle plays, 
Man is measur'd by his cloth . 

True it is, that solid sense 

Yields to vain acquirements. 

I'll try again, come ! here's a pair 
Blue as ocean, ere the wing 

Of the spirit of the air. 

Wakes its halcyon slumbering, 

Perfect is the owner's mould. 

And her wealth cannot be told. 

Ha ! ha ! ha 1 see how they fly ! 

Fair and homely, weak and strong, 
" I will buy them ! I will buy I" 

Crying as they speed along. 
Surely, you 're a silly sex, 
Men for gold to break your necks. 



BUDS AND FLOWERS. 

Now then, gallants, what d'ye say, — 
I the lovely blue have sold,— 

To this pair of sparkling grey ? 
She who owns them rolls in gold ; 

But she's peevish and a miser, 

And, justly, all the world despise her. 

Take them, then, my bonny youth ! 

'Tis a saying known of old, — 
Modems, too, have prov'd its truth, — 

" Man will sell his soul for gold I" 
Aye, and bend at Satan's shrine-, 
Like a slave, his brow divine. 



85 



" Remember now thy Creator, in the days of thy youth." Ecc xii. 1- 

Seek Him ere, as the dews on bud and blossom 

Vanish before the rosy beams of day, 
The joyous pulses of thy youthful bosom 

By the rude hand of Time are swept away. 
Time's fleeting pinions o'er thy brow are throwing 

Their twilight shadows ; soon thy strength will fail, 
And round the sky with girlhood's sun-light glowing, 

Will drivelling Age entwine his hoary veil. 

While yet around thy mirthful heart no sadness 

Has fall'n from gnarled sorrow's sable wing, 
To chill the music of its notes of gladness, 

Or blight its gem-buds in their blossoming, 
Lay earthly vanities aside, and raising 

Thy soul, unfetter'd, to the unbounded heaven, — 
Where, clad in might and majesty, is blazing 

The eternal god-head, — ask to be forgiven. _ 



86 BUDSANDFLOWERS. 

While yet above thy flow'ry path the brightness 

Of guileless girl-hood's halcyon skies is shed, 
And, ere by this rude world's vile schemes the whiteness. 

The purity of thy soul's robes are sullied, 
Give Him thy heart ; and when life's tie is riven, 

And earth's poor nothings vanish from thy sight, 
Bliss-wrapt, thy soul shall wing its way to heaven. 

And reign with Him in realms of endless light. 



Her eye was the brightest, her forehead was fair ; 
As black as the wing of the heath-cock her hair ; 
Never night^s pallid queen, nor the monarch of day 
Shone on being more lovely than Isabel May. 

On her dimple-grac'd cheek rosy health revell'd high ; 
Blandly sweet was her voice, as the sea-maiden's sigh. 
And never throbb'd bosom so lightsome and gay, 
Yet so guileless, as that of young Isabel May. 

Her lips, by Dan Cupid's attempts were in vain 
To express half the charms of that beautiful twain ; 
I cannot describe them, — suffice it to say. 
Never two lips excell'd those of Isabel May, 

Her mouth was exquisite, — an angel's her smile, 
Discovering pearls strung on roses, the while, 
And balmy and pure as the breezes that play 
Over Tempo, the breath of young Isabel May. 

Her form, — fam'd Murillo ne'er limn'd aught so fine, — 
'Twas perfect, 'twas peerless, — nay, almost divine: 
Shapeless, all, are the Naiads that sport 'mid the spray 
Of old ocean, compar'd with young Isabel May. 



B U D S A N D F L O W K R S . 87» 

No Georgian damsel, no sylph of Cashmere, 
In the harem of Mahmoud, her beauty may peer ; 
Never troubadour warbled his love -breathing lay 
To a being so bright as young Isabel May. 

^No gallant of yore, in Spain, England, or France, 
Ever reign'd his proud charger, and couch'd his good lance, 
In the lists of the tourney, or red field of fray. 
For a lady-love fairer than Isabel May. 

But 'twas pity a form so transcendently fair, 
Such eloquent eyes, such a forehead, such hair. 
Such cheeks, lips, voice, breath, and a bosom so gay. 
Should belong to one cold as was Isabel May. 

Cold, aye, was she! cold as the ice-bergs that roll 
Their fantastical peaks round the Antarctic pole, 
Or the Arctic,— no matter which,— love's burning ray 
Never fell on the heart of young Isabel May. 

Youth, comely and warm, at her feet knelt and sigh'd ; 
Age, to win but a smile would have willingly died, 
And.deem'd himself blest ; but the dark hair'd and grey, 
Met with treatment alike from young Isabel May. 

Youth swore she was bright as the mother of Love; 
Wrinkled Age, that she equall'd the seraphs above ; 
But vain was each vow, for she laugh'd them away. 
That cold hearted creature, young Isabel May. 

It was strange, passing strange, by Olympian Jove ! 
Till I saw that cold beauty, I thought that in love 
Was the heaven of woman : — fair reader, I pray. 
Tell me, truly, are all cold as Isabel May ? 

If so, by my eyes, it were well all her sex 
Have not power, as she, lordly man to perplex; 
For then, without budding, post, rafter and tree. 
Would be rife with the fruit of dark felo de se. 



88 B i; D S A N D F L W E R S 



There is a clime, it was the fairest clime 

Beneath the sun, when Freedom first unfurl'd 
Her radiant banner, and in tones sublime 

Proud Fame proclaim'd lier mistress of the world. 
Her children then the moral image bore 
Of that first pair, which wander'd Eden o'er 
Ere the fell serpent came, and with an art 
Unknown to mortals, won the woman's heart. 

But, ah ! how chang'd this beautiful parterre ! 

This home and heritage of free-born men, 
"Whose gallant sires, beneath red war's deep glare, 

Rear'd high fair freedom's fane, how chang'd since then. 
Still o'er her bends the same cerulean sky, 
And rolling stars, from their bright spheres on high, — 
The dazzling heraldry of heaven, — pour 
Upon her soil their brilliance as of yore. 

The same bright orb sheds down its mellow beams ; 

Mount, hill, and valley, lake and forest tree, 
Her waving prairies, and her noble streams 

Are still the same, but she's no longer free. 
Nay, o'er the country hallow'd by the graves 
Of matchless patriots walk a race of slaves, — 
Aye, slaves ! with power, but wanting will to burst 
The chains that bind them to a thing accurst. 

It is no king, in regal splendor drest, 

Notinsell'd flesh and blood, nojewell'd brow 

Before whose throne, to do each high behest 
Columbia's bondaged children meekly bow. 

Oh, no ! each heart with freedom's fire would warm, 

The hoary head, and buoyant youth would arm 

And rush to battle, did a king essay 

His sceptre o'er their parent soil to sway. 



BUDSANDFLOWERS. 89 

Nay, never will her offspring bend the knee 

In mute obedience to a monarch's frown ; 
But, shame to say, 'neath hell's own alchemy, 

Foul, madd'ning spirit bow servilely down. 
Till blighted by its soul-polluting tide, 
Fair featur'd Honour, bland eyed Virtue, Pride, — 
Yea, all that forms the heart's bright panoply, — 
The bosom's armour, sicken, droop, and die. 

Aye ! Reason, too, the golden link that binds 

To things celestial, man's exalted soul, 
Hurl'd from her throne by madd'ning spirit, finds 

A grave unhallow'd 'neath its vile control. 
What then were man ? The lordly forest oak 
Scath'd, riven, blasted by the lightning's stroke, 
No more the verdant robe of spring to wear, 
Of him were emblem meet,— a thing as fair. 

Go, tread yon Bedlam's howling cells among. 
And view the forms whilom of perfect mould ; 

The limbs once graceful, nervous, firm, well strung. 
As were proud Athens' athletse of old. 

Look on the furrow'd brow, the wandering eye, 

The fiendish grin of dread Insanity, — 

Of dark Intemperance the horrid fruit, — 

What once was man is now a raving brute. 

Look in upon the wretches doom'd to brood 
On prospects blighted, o'er the past to mourn 

For years on years, in wasting solitude : — 

What forg'd the chains they wear, so long have worn ; 

Drew close around each once unsullied name 

The sable drapery of blasting shame. 

And struck at Honour's root the deadly blow ? 

Dark brow'd Intemperance, man's veriest foe. 

And is this all ? stops the fell monster here ? 

Hath fiU'd she now the mortal's cup of woe ? 
Nay, tread yon quiet burial place, where rear 

Love's tributes o'er the mould that rests below, 
12 



90 RUDSANDFLOWERS. 

And there behold, on every side around, 
'Neath brilliant shaft, and urn, and humble mound, 
The thousands whom her soul-destroying wave 
Hath swept frorn life to fill an early grave. 

Then turn, and o'er our once proud Union, 
From Maine to Mexico, from sea to sea, 
Behold the millions spirit's power hath won 

From calm content to withering misery. 
What painful scenes upon the vision break. 
And of the heart the better feelings wake ! 
W-hat ruin, wrought by those in slavery. 
To curs'd Intemperance fills the roving eye ! 

Oh, man ! proud man, of high Omnipotence 
The noble image, -willing slave to rum, — 

The murderer foul of every moral sense, 

The grave's chief pander,— what hast thou become? 

Where now the qualities that constitute 

Creation's lord superior to the brute ? 

The lofty mind, deep searching reason ? fled ! 

Self-love, bright honour, virtue ? all are dead. ! 

How long, Columbia, wilt thou groan beneath 

The woe-dispensing demon that has trod, 
With buskin foul, and pestilential breath, 

Above the fairest, noblest works of God; 
Blighted the intellectual mind, and flung 
The cankering worm thy brightest flow'rs among, 
Snapt Friendship's silken tie, Love's shafts of flame, 
And render'd Virtue but an empty name ? 

E'en now, methinks, the sable fiend I see 
Her pinions pluming, ready to be gone; 
Again, beneath the smiles of Liberty, — 

As fair as that our noble fathers won, — 
Thy moral degradation cleans'd away. 
Swart Slav'ry's night dispell'd by Freedom's day, 
I see thee, clad in Virtue's gorgeous robe, 
As once thou wast, the wonder of the globe. 



BUDSANDFLOWERS. 91 

By what is this fair vision conjur'd up ? _ 

I see the fiend's blind votaries reclaim'd, 
Bursting her fetters, dashing down the cup 

Whose baneful tide their souls so long enflam'd ; 
And, hand-in-hand, with those who never felt 
The power of her allurements, never knelt 
And worshipp'd at her shrine, a glorious band. 
Firm, close-rank'd, driving Spirit from thy land. 



" The fool hath said in his heart, there is no God." Psaiiiis xiv. 1. 

Go, gaze thou on the firmanent, when from his amber wings 
The day- god o'er its graceful dome a flood of radiance flings ; 
And when from its unbounded arch Sol's golden beams have fled, 
And round the argent shield of night the stars hang clustered. 

View it when, deep as Egypt's night, a darkness nature shrouds, 
And howls his notes the tempest king upon the squadron'd clouds ; 
While 'bove, below, around his path, the vivid lightnings flash, 
And, shaking earth from pole to pole, the startling thunders crash. 

Go, look thou on the halcyon flood of ocean, clad in smiles, 
As laves it, murmuring as it flows, a thousand sunny isles ; 
And view it when its placid breath by tempest blast is riven. 
And upward roll, in fearful wrath, its foamy waves to heaven. 

Go, look thou on the crater'd mount when wreathes of wavy snow 
Lie stainless round its charred crest, from fires that burn below ; 
And mark it when with furnace heat its molten lava glides, 
As brightly as a mountain stream, adown its furrow'd sides. 

Go, look thou on the wilderness, the patriarchs of the wood, 
Which, ages, with their foliag'd boughs, the storm and sun have stood ; 
And see, they bend like reeds before the whirlwind's dread career, 
Each sturdy trunk is blasted now, each verdant crown is sere. 



92 BUDSANDFLOVVERS. 

Once more, proud man, around thee look ! behold the Smiling earth. 
Its gurgling streams, and groves, and bowers, all redolent of mirth. 
Look on the mount, the vale, the hill, the waste, and em'rald sod, 
And say ; but nay, thou dar'st not say, thou worm, " there is no God 1" 



A Paraphrase. 

The earth lay void and shapeless, and the deep. 
Upon whose face the Almighty's spirit mov'd, 
Roll'd 'neath chaotic darkness. 

With awful voice now spake that mighty One, 
And beams of light in corruscations shot 
Their mellow glories through the gloomy space, 
While wrapt in breathless admiration, stood 
The swift wing'd seraphim around His throne. 
Beheld He then and saw that it was good,— 
This primal essay of His potent hand, — 
And separate plac'd the light and darkness, 
Calling the former day, the latter night. 

God spoke again : — the firmament arose. 
Dividing deep from deep, and sphere from sphere ; 
And heaven's blue arch, in all its loveliness, 
Its grace of curve, and limitless extent, 
Bent like a halo o'er the second day. 

Again He spoke : — the waters 'neath and 'bove 

The bending sky, — as went His fiat forth, — 

Together roU'd, and the dry land appear'd. 

The congregated waters call'd He seas. 

The dry land, earth — and both He deemed good. 

He said, and from the fertile earth sprang up 

The bladed grass, and herb that yieldeth seed. 

And tree whose branches groaned 'neath golden fniit. 

He look'd upon His work, pronounc'd it good. 

And thus the third day's labour finished ? 



BUDS AND FLOWERS. 93 

He spoke again: — and up the concave rode, 

In matchless brilliance drest, the god of day, — 

His brows enwreath'd with beams of wavy gold, — 

And Night's fair queen, and stars a myriad host. 

These set He in the heaven's boundless dome, 

The Sun to hold dominion o'er the day, 

The Moon and countless stars the night to rule. 

And spread their genial rays on all the world. 

Omnipotence his handy work reviewed 

And saw 'twas good ; — thus did the fourth day pass. 

Once more th' Almighty sent His fiat forth. 
And river, lake, and ocean teem'd with life. 
The huge Leviathan his sable length 
RoU'd through the limpid waters ; and the caves 
Of ocean glitter'd with their gorgeous gems ; 
Birds, too, of varied plumage, fiU'd the air. 
And gleeful sung to Him who gave them life, 
In strains mellifluous their songs of love. 
Then did Jehovah in His goodness bless 
The wanderers of ocean and of air. 
And bade them fruitful be and multiply. 
Such was the fifth day's work of Deity. 

Yet once again Jehovah's awful voice 
Broke the deep stillness of th' unfinish'd scene. 
And earth brought forth its roving denizens. 
Cattle, and creeping thing, and rav'ning beast 
Rose from their parent dust endow'd with life. 
And sported each with each, or lay them down, 
Dress'd in primeval innocence, together. 
Not yet nor dews nor cooling rains had spread 
Their fertilizing influence o'er the land,— 
Nor was there one its fecund breast to till ; 
For man. Creation's lord, was not then made, — 
But from the earth went up a heavy mist, 
And fell again in showers upon the ground. 
Giving new life to herb, and fruit, and flower. 
Then, in His wisdom's plenitude, proud Man 



94 BUDS AND FLOWERS. 

Did Deity call forth to light and life : 

And planted He, in Eden's smiling vale, — 

Towards that point from whence ascends the sun, — 

A garden with the fairest bowers adoru'd, 

And there, to keep it, put the man He'd form'd. 

There wander'd he in happiness, alone, — 

A being pure in heart, and void of guile, 

Creation's master, and her noblest work, — 

Until that God by whose all-powerful hand 

And after whose bright image he was made. 

Sent him fond Eve, the fairest of his works. 

Then look'd He round, the holy, and the high, 

Upon His labour done, and saw 'twas good. 

The sixth day now had pass'd ; the seventh came ; 

Jehovah rested from his mighty work, 

And as a day of holy rest to all. 

Did He that iSabbath bless and sanctify. 



I would 1 were a moon-beam bright, 
I'd leave the blue and starry skies. 
And round thy dark and lovely eyes 

Would play the livelong night. 

I would I were a zephyr free, 

I'd woo each flower, rich and rare. 
And on my silken wings would bear 

Its sweet perfumes to thee. 

I would I were a sun-beam, no, 
The sun himself I would I were, 
I'd revel in that bosom fair, 

And melt those hills of snow. 

Then, from its casket would I steal 
That gentle heart, — a purer gem 
Ne'er deck'd a monarch's diadem, — 

And on it set a lover's seal. 



P, UDS AND FLOWERS. 



95 



Let harp and timbrel sound, 
And anthems to our king, 
Let all the earth around 
With cheerful bosoms sing. 
We offer at His shrine 
No goats nor fatted kine, 
But hearts replete with adoration, — 
The brightest and the- best oblation, — 
Precious ever in his eyes ; 
Offerings he will not despise. 
Praise Him skies in beauty bow'd ; 

Kiver, sea, and fountain, 
Gorgeous rainbow, fleecy cloud, 
Verdant plain and mountain ; 
Every living thing. 
To your heavenly king, — 
Who was, and is, and is to be, — 
Chaunt aloud your minstrelsy. 

He who hung on Calvary; 

Wounded, pale, and gory, 
Sits enrob'd in majesty 
In the realms of glory. 
Oh ! was not that a love sublime 
Of Him who gave His only son, 
The pure, the meek, the lowly one, 
To die, that bosoms fraught with crime 
Might in His blood be purified ! 
What love was that of Him who died 
A death, the thought of which impels 
A sigh from breasts where virtue dwells ! 
Praise Him, skies in beauty bow'd ; 

River, sea, and fountain, . 
Gorgeous rainbow, fleecy cloud. 
Verdant plain and mountain ; 



96 BUDSANDFLOWERS. 

Every living thing, 
To your heavenly king, — 
Who was, and is, and is to be, — 
Chaunt aloud your minstrelsy. 



B 



^***-¥****ii' 



I had a dream, — a pleasant dream,— 

It linger'd night and day 
Upon my mind for many weeks, 

But it has pass'd away, 
And left my heart a prey to woe, 
To anguish such as few may know 

Yet, well do I remember now 
That bright, entrancing dream, — 

For 'twas no evanescent thing, 
No winter's sunset beam 

That o'er the brow of parting day 

A moment plays, and fades away. 

It was a dream, — but 'twas not of 
Those fleeting things and vain, 

Which mirthful Fancy, in our sleep, 
Enweaves around the brain ; 

Nay, waking, sleeping, night and day. 

My bosom own'd its soothing sway, 

Ah ! never shall I know again 
So bright, so sweet a dream : 

And while it linger'd, calmly by, 
As some unruffled stream, 

The sea of life serenely roll'd 

Its fickle tide o'er sands of gold. 



BUDS AND FLOWERS. 

Long have I striven to efface 

That dream from mem'ry's scroll ; 

To banish from my thoughts a thing 
Engraven on my soul ; 

For well I know 'twere worse than vain 

To cherish that which brings me pain. 

I've sought to banish from my mind 

That dream so passing fair ; 
But, ah ! each effort only serves 

To fix it deeper there. 
'Twere useless all, — 'twere easier, far, 
From yonder sky to pluck a star. 

Thy person, virtues, dearest, are, 

Made up the phantasy 
Of that sweet dream to which thro' life 

Shall cling my memory. 
Days, months, — aye ! years, may roll, and yet 
That dream I never shall forget. 



97 



Give me to drink ! but let it be 
Cold water, from poUation free ; 
(No poison with its current blent. 

The bram to fire, the soul to dim ;) 
The clear and sparkling element 

That bubbles o'er some fountain's brim. 

Of wine, the merry bacchanal. 
In numbers light and musical, 

From night till dawn, from dawn till night. 

With hiccough chorusses may sing ; 
But give me water, pure and bright, 

Forth gushing from some chrystal spring. 
13 



98 BUD3ANDFL0WEKS. 

Give me to drink ! but let the cup 

Be filled with that which, gurgling up, 
As cold as snow on Hecla's side, 

Is filter'd through earth's bosom green, 
And kisses with its silver tide 

The flow'rs that o'er its surface lean. 

There is no poison there : a child 
May quaff, unharmed, its current mild. 
There lies no serpent coil'd beneath 

The mimic waves that round it roll, 
Her folds about the heart to wreathe. 
And pour her venom on the soul. 

Oh, would that all, who now are bond 

To curst Intemp'rance, might respond, 

" Give me to drink ! but let it be 

The clear and sparkling element, 
Cold water, from pollution free ; 
No poison with its current blent." 



Hail to thee, Ocean, as in days gone by 

Thunder thy wild waves on the rock-bound shore, 

Or throw their blue and crested heads on high. 
And, big with emulation, strive to soar 
E'en to that graceful concave stretching o'er 

Thy azure bosom ; and the slumb'ring soul, 

Rous'd by thy warblings, wakes to scenes of yore ; 

Again fond Memory grasps her chequer'd scroll. 

And points, with smiling lip, to happy boyhood's goal. 

Thou art the same, ! Ocean, — on thy breast 

Time's hand no change perceptible hath wrought, — 

Still roll thy billows, in their beauty drest, 

As when this heart, with boyhood's visions fraught, 



BUDSANDF LOWERS. 99 

Beat high with hope, and many a joyous thought, 
Like sun-beams play'd youth's waysides green around ; 

And 'neath the smiles of friends I knew of nought 
To dim the shine of those fair flow'rs that crown'd 
My life, and love was not, as now, an empty sound. 

As erst I saw them, o'er thy boundless waste, 

Tall ships and proud are wending on their way 
From clime to clime, their courses all untrac'd, 

As speed the)?- onward through thy gladsome spray, . 

On peaceful missions some, and some in battle 'ray, 
Out from its tapering spars, each flowing sail, 

White as the snow flake 'neath the orb of day. 
Or kiss'd by beams from Cynthia's halo pale. 

Swells to the ruffian blast, or summer's mellow gale. 

O'er thee, O ! Ocean, often have I bent 

Prom the dark vessel's prow, and watch'd the play 
Of thy blue waves, of beauty redolent. 

As roll'd they 'neath the first bright beams of day 

And when, of sun-light the departing ray 
Had shot its fading lustre up the west. 

And rob'd in burning gems, a bright array. 
Night's chaste brow'd empress rear'd her silver crest. 
Pouring a flood refulgent o'er thy furrow'd breast. 

Earth has its beauties, but to those alone 

Who roam thy azure bosom, is it given 
To know the wond'rous works of Him whose throne 

Is based upon the sapphire vault of heaven. 

They see his awful potency, when riven 
By tempest gales, and onward fiercely roll'd. 

Or upward, by his might resistless driven. 
E'en from their cavern'd deeps, thy waves unfold, 
Garner'd in coral cells, vast hoards of wealth untold. 

And who, the plodders of the land among, 

Hath seen the red brow'd charioteer of day 
Put back the curtains round his pillow hung. 

And up the orient, from thy billowy way, 



100 BUDS AND FLOWERS. 

Urge his wing'd coursers, clad in harness gay; 
And, speeding in his tireless career, 

Flake deep with gold the clouds of morning grey, 
Or 'neath thy breast beheld him disappear. 
To brighten for a space another hemisphere ? 

But veil thy scroll my mem'ry, it were vain, 
Aye ! painful, scenes and hours to review, 

The peers of which we ne'er may know again. 
I leave thee, Ocean ! — to thy waters blue 
And fairy isles, where oft, with bosoms true, 

In by-past years, I've wandered in glee, 
I now must say a long — a last adieu. 

Farewell, bright Ocean, thou, as freedom free. 

An emblem in thy might of Him who fashion'd thee. 



'%^ ^inm(^^ t^M^ M^mt 



Turn thou away, my soul, from this vain earth ; 
Its pleasures are but fleeting phantoms all — 
From its broad midst to either horizon. 
All it contains, of worthless or of worth. 
Of foul or fair, of frail mortality 
The imprint bears. 

The civic chaplet set 
Around the brow of lofty intellect, — 
Beauty's soft lip, — Fame's brilliant coronal, — 
The envied meed by war-worn heroes won, — 
Wealth's silvery wreath, — the coroneted head 
And sceptred hand of Power, — all must fade. 
Thy fragile dwelling, too, will know decay, 
And to the dust, from whence it came, return ; 



BUDS AND FLOWERS. ' 101 

But thou ! thou art imiribrtal, O ! my soul, 

And when a million myriads of the span 

That bounds poor man's existence shall have pass'd, 

Thou wilt remain, the same as at that hour 

When death shook down thy tenement of clay, 

And thou, mysterious essence, wing'd thy flight, 

To dwell, for ages, incomputable, 

In those bright mansions fashion'd not with hands, 

Or shriek thy agonies in hopeless woe. 

That great first Power by which all things were made ; 
That sovereign truth which no mutation knows ; 
That wisdom, boundless and inscrutable ; 
Which, as the sun illumes this nether world. 
Dispenses its pure light on that endovv'd 
With Reason's heavenly ray, hath form'd thee, soul, 
An immaterial and eternal thing. 

Turn thou away then, from this world of care. 
And grief, and shame, and want, and withering woe. 
Gaze deep into that realm where perfect love. 
Impersonated in a triune God, 
Sits high enthroned, diffusing o'er the spheres, 
Call'd into being by his awful voice. 
With lavish hand the treasures of his grace. 

Hast thou not heard how died the anomted One ? 
The Christ, — the spirit of prophetic love, — 
Whose day the faithful patriarch saw and joy'd: 
And of whose coming, sufferings and death, 
Inspir'd by heaven, the royal minstrel sung ? 
Look thou on yonder mount, — 'tis Calvary, — 
There bore He, in his body, on the tree. 
Thy load of sin, — and there in anguish died 
That thou, and such as thou, might plead his name, . 
And win an heirdom to eternal life. 
Kneel there, revolter — He is Love, — the blood 
That gushes from his wounded side shall lave, 
And make thee clean from every fearful stain. 



102 BtTDS AND FLOWKRS. 



51 temu E Mmm o ^^ We mt ^ Mmm 



I want a beau ! I want a beau ! 

'Tis sweet, — at least they tell me so, — 

To waltz, or walk, or sail, or row 

With him you mean to marry. 
And then, — but, O ! it must be sweet! — 
To have one kneeling at one's feet, 
And hear him there his vows repeat ! — 

By Jove, but I will marry ! 

I'm old enough to have a beau ! 
And oft I tell my mamma so ! 
As often she replies, "oh, no ! 

You are too young to marry !" 
Odd zooks! 'tis always thus with those 
Within whose bosom coldly flows 
The streams of love, to belles and beaux, 

Who have a mind to marry. 

Maids who have had their hearts for sale 
Some forty years, — whose charms are stale, — 
May, — and they have a cause to, — rail 

At those who wish to marry ; 
But ma' as who, by experience taught, 
Know all the bliss with which is fraught 
The wedded life, — I think should nought 

Object when girls would marry. 

I've got a beau ! I've got a beau ! 

The knowledge makes my bosom glow; 

And, blow it high, or blow it low, 

I am resolved to marry. 
I've roamed the squares, — I've walk'd the street, — 
I've been to ev'ry fam'd retreat. 
But never saw I one so neat. 

So just the thing to marry. 



BUDS AND FLOWERS. 103 

I know he loves me, and he came 
This very night to tell his flame — 
He call'd me every pretty name, 

And ask'd me if I'd marry. 
I blushed, — as every modest maid 
On such occasions will, — and said, 
" Dear sir, I feel somewhat afraid 

I am too young to marry." 

He press'd his suit, — what could I do ? 

I answered, " take me," — (so would you,) — 

And, truth to say, I think there's few. 

Who can, but that will marry. 
The Rubicon is passed, — what then ? 
Why I must wed the best of men, 
And trust I shan't regret the when 

I first resolv'd to marry. 



^**^*^^^* 



That strain, — ^O, breathe that witching strain 

Of dulcet numbers once again, 

To pleasant hours of years gone by. 

Its tones have woke my memory. 

O, breathe it once again ! its words 
Have stirr'd my bosom's finest chords ; 
Back brings it girlhood's hours again, — 
Breathe, breathe, once more that witching strain. 



104 BUDS AND F L O W i: R S . 



Hail once again, fair city of my birth, 

Thou bright Elysium of my infancy; 
Home of my boyhood, fairest gem of earth, 

Scene of my youthful days, all hail to thee ! 
'Twas here beneath these blue and sunny skies, 

Among these flow'ry vales, with dew impearl'd. 
And groves, umbrageous, that on these eyes 

First broke the sunlight of this charming world. 
Years, weary years, borne down the stream of Time, 

Have sought the ocean of eternity ; 
And 'neath the suns of many a cloudless clime, — 

A reckless wand'rer of the land and sea, — ■ 
My path hath been, and o'er my soul hath pass'd, 

Blighting each bud of hope and promise there. 
Sin's turgid wave and Obloquy's chill blast, 

Since last I gazed upon thy features fair, 
And gaz'd to love, — but ever in the hush 

Of midnight, or the hum of day, where'er 
It was my destiny to roam, would rush 

Upon my mind sweet thoughts of scenes so dear. 
Aye ! distance, time, and absence all have fail'd 

The blaze of Memory's glowing torch to mar ; 
And still, its ev'ry radiant ray unpaled, 

In all its pristine glory shines her star. 

Oh, 'tis a thrilling ecstasy to one 

Who hath the love of country in his soul. 
When lonely wandering in some far off zone. 

To re-peruse fond mem'ry's brilliant scroll, 
And there to read, mayhap of by-gone hours, 

When, with a bosom redolent of joy, 
His pathway strewn with Hope's delusive flowers, 

He trod the world a careless hearted boy. 
Oft have I roam'd beneath as bright a dome 

As that which in its beauty bends o'er thee, 



BUDS AND FLOWERS. 105 

My native land, my happy childhood's home, 

But still the loveliest, fairest scene to me 
Was that which mem'ry pictur'd of the spot 

O'er which, in happier hours my footsteps fell ; 
Nor was there aught that had the power to blot, 

Or dissipate the sketch I lov'd so well. 



How much of joy, how much of grief 
A glance at Memory's chequered leaf 

In many a bosom wakes : 
Here Sorrow's mist the page enshrouds ; 
There Pleasure's brilliance thro' the clouds, 

Like summer's sun-light breaks. 
We read it o'er, and on the heart 
Falls, now a balm, and now a smart. 

What wonders mightthat motley sheet, — 
Could it but all it bears repeat, — 

To human ears unfold ; 
What tales of love, of crime, of woe. 
Could it in one brief moment show. 

Which must remain untold. 
Ah ! it is well the burthen'd soul 
Lies bondaged to the will's control. 

Their lives not one, whose memory, 
However pure its page may be, 

Retains no fadeless trace 
Of word, or deed, that he would not, 
Were his the power, be glad to blot 

And utterly efface. 
Though that it bears may ne'er be known 
To other bosom than his own. 
14 



106 BUDS AND FLOWERS. 

'i'lie memory is like those spots 
Which here and there a rank weed dots 

With many a flower fair ; 
And it were passing sweet to cull 
Those flowers bright and beautiful 

Exhaling perfume there. 
Poor, poor indeed, the memory 
That hath no sunny spots, must be. 



Weep'st thou Columbia? is thy bright eye dim 

With heaven-born affection's pearly tear? 
^ Say, dost thou weep the memory of him 

Whose ashes lie unurn'd, unhonour'd here ? 
That son whose noble deeds are placed with those 

Of Vernon's chief, and Monticello's sage ; 
Whose envied name in burning splendor glows 

Among the best on hist'ry's sun-lit page ? 
Nay, thou art like the arid sands that burn 

In eastern climes, the renovating shower 
Imbibing greedily, but in return 

Yielding nor blade of grass, nor fruit, nor flower. 
Away, then, with those hypocritic tears ! 

Would'st thou insult the living and the dead? 
Go lean upon some sculptur'd urn that rears 

Its graceful form o'er those in Folly's bed, 
And weep there, till thine eye-balls ache and glaze ; — 

For them, methinks, thy pleasure 'tis to braid 
The laurel crown, while live they, and the bays 

When nature's debt thy favourites have paid ; — 
But come not here, thy seeming grief to pour 

Above the mould' ring clay of him who rose 
Triumphant, God-like, 'mid the conflict's roar, 

And hurl'd destruction on thy vaunting foes, 



BUDS AND FLOW Ens, 107 

When stern Impressment trod, with iron heel, 

Thy peaceful trader's decks, and, shame to say, 
E'en unresisted, paced one gallant keel 

Where war's dark ordnance stood in battle 'ray. 
Alas, that day, Columbia, for thy fame ! 

In thy own silver waters, too, to quail 
Before the foe, and thy proud oriflame 

Beneath the flaunting cross of Albion vail! — 
But thou'rt a loving mother, for the son 

Who threw the first foul stain upon thy flag, 
Who saw a slave, a tyrant's myrmidon. 

Load with oppression's galling gyves, and drag 
Thy boldest tars from every binding tie. 

Home, country, children, friends ; and by whose hand 
'Twas thy Decatur's hapless fate to die, 

Thou'st seated 'mong the proudest of thy land. 
Where is thy gratitude to him who bore, 

In manhood's flower, thy brilliant galaxy 
Along the wave, and cull'd from Afric's shore 

A wreath to deck the altar of the free ? 
Who shook a pearl from Albion's diadem, — 

When from the Macedonian's peak came down 
' The ruddy cross, before the stars that gem 

Thy flag, — to brighten Freedom's laurel crown ? 
For him thou canst do nothing ; — earth can add 

No lustre to the brightness of the sky 
Arching Elysian fields, where, richly clad, 

Roam those who for their country do and die ; — 
But wipe those hypocritic tears ! begone ! 

And view his aged spouse, whose nuptial morn 
Was clouded, ere the beams upon its dawn 

Had pass'd, and given place to brilliance worn 
By Love's full orb. Go, view her state, I say. 

And if thou hast a soul, thou ingrate queen, 
Let Bounty ope thy hand, her griefs allay. 

That down, her day star, calmly and serene. 
May sink the horizon of Time beneath. 

And, 'stead of fearful malisons on thee 



108 BUDS AND FLOWERS. 

For thy ingratitude, her parting breath 

Burthen'd with blessings on thy name may be. 
Columbia, look'st thou not with pride upon 

That golden tablet, where the siren Fame 
Has sung of gallant deeds, of battles won 

Beneath the folds of thy bright oriflame ? 
Aye ! dost thou, yet the high of soul who fought, 

Bled, conquer'd, died, that thou might'st fairest stand 
Among earth's lordliest nations : those who brought 

Unsullied back to its own native strand 
Thy meteor flag, from many a reeking field 

And blood-dyed wave, where fierce Bellona spurr'd 
Her fiery barb, and Briton's squadrons reel'd 

Before the free, with banner dimm'd and blurr'd, 
Forgotten, sleep their last, long sleep unsung : — 

And many an orphan'd child, and widow'd wife. 
By Penury's with'ring hand, their bosoms wrung, 

Bereav'd of sire, and husband, in the strife 
That seal'd thy fame, by thee neglected, tread 

Adown the furrow'd path of life, and brood 
In wasting sorrow o'er their guardian's dead, 

Cursing, the while, thy black ingratitude. 
Columbia, if thou would'st that other lands 

With admiration on thy fame should gaze ; — 
Would'st thou that hearts of steel and ready hands 

Should dare for thee the battle's fiercest blaze ; — 
Wouldst thou, that of ihy glory bards should sing. 

And on thy soil kind heaven her blessings pour, — 
Thou must be grateful, then, to those who bring. 

To those who have brought to thy smiling shore 
A shadeless glory, glory such as none 
Of all the lands beneath the changeless sun, 
By flood, or field, by their high deeds have won. 



BUDS AND FLOWERS. 109 



u^^ tU^ Ef ire, 



Wake ! wake the lyre, tune every chord 
To Him at whose Almighty word 

This bright and joyous earth, 
And yon cerulean concave, hung 
With everlasting lustres sprung 

From nothingness to birth. 

Wake ! wake the lyre to Him who gave 
Its limits to the flashing wave 

And at whose sovereign will 
Its hoary-crested waters rise 
In liquid mountains to the skies. 

Or slumber as the rill. 

Wake ! wake the lyre, by youth and eld 
Let anthems to his name be swell'd 

Who pours upon our soil 
The vivifying dew and rain, 
And with full shocks of golden grain 

Rewards the reaper's toil. 

Wake ! wake the lyre, 'tis gratitude 
That bids us sing to Him whose blood, 

In dark Gethsemane, 
As water ooz'd from every pore ; 
And who for sin the torture bore 

On rifted Calvary. 

Wake ! wake the lyre, — O, let us sing 
To Him from whom all blessings spring : 

We hear the feather'd clan. 
At noon and eve, in bower and tree, 
Pour out their dulcet minstrelsy, — 

And should not sinful man ? 



110 BUDS AND FLOWERS. 



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When the golden wreath of wealth 

Round the brow is twining, 
When Prosperity's bright sun 

In life's sky is shining, 
While we wander Pleasure's maze, 

Crushing flowers scatter'd 
O'er its labarynthine paths, 

How caress'd and flatter'd. 

When the golden wreath of wealth 

From the brow has faded. 
When Adversity's dark clouds 

Life's fair sky have shaded, 
While we wander Sorrow's maze, 

All its pathway's skirted 
With the piercing thorns of care. 

How despis'd, deserted. 



to 

We met, and knew the exquisite, unutterable thrills 
Which move the hearts of those who love, the cloyless bliss that fills 
The bosoms of a twain who deem the witching ectasy 
Engender'd by a burning kiss, life's veriest luxury. 



We parted, but to those who lov'd as we had lov'd, alone, 
The whelming grief, the anguish of that parting can be known. 
Yes, parted we, to meet no more, until our barques shall be. 
Before the frigid blast of death, borne down Eterne's sea. 



BUDS AND FLOWERS. 



e 



A modest rose, the garden's gem, 
Hung blooming on its verdant stem, 
As up the flaming horizon. 
In all his glory walk'd the sun : 
But ere that sun had hid again 
His golden crest beneath the main, 
The canker worm had banqueted 
Upon that rose's heart, — 'twas dead. 
And soon its leaves upon the ground 
By ruffian hands were scattered round, 
While passers by look'd down with scorn 
Upon a thing so bright at morn. 
Thus is't with thee, thou fairest gem 
Gracing earth's flowery diadem, 
Thou damask of its garden wild, 
Fond woman, when by man beguil'd. 



Ill 



Adown the west to ocean's breast 

The day-god spurs his barbs, 
And half the .sky in drapery 

Of gold and crimson garbs ; 
But soon away, with passing day, 

Those gorgeous hues will fade. 
And night around the blue profound ..^ 

Dispense her dusky shade. :.;,i;/j 

Behold him now around the brow 
Of yonder mountain twine, 

As westward speed his flaming steeds, 
A halo all divine. 



112 BUDS AND FLOWERS. 

On dell and hill and glassy rill, 
And flower enamell'd mead; 
On bower and tree and brawling sea, 
His opal beams are spread. 

A coronal, ephemreal 

As youth's bright hopes, is on 
The sky and sea, and bush and tree — 

E'en while we gaze 'tis gone. 
Beneath the main, to rise again, 

Hath set the glorious sun, 
And in the sky their revelry 

The stars have now besfun. 



Of THE FOURTH AKD FIFTH V E H S E S OF THE 95tH PSAEM. 

Of smiling earth the utmost ends — 

The desert and the garden spread 
With lovely flowers, the mount that blends 

With heaven's blue its hoary head. 
The gem lit cave, the flaming mine, — 
He holds within His hand divine. 

The boundless sea is His, — He made 

Its sunless dells, its dark defiles. 
And purple bosom'd waves that braid 

Their snow wreathes round its fairy isles ; 
And, with its joyous scenes, the land 
Came perfect from his plastic hand. 



BUDS AND FLOWERS. 113 



He sleeps — Creation's lord — the noblest work 
Of that Almighty One at whose command, 
From nothingness, to light and beauty sprung, 
In all its parts complete, this glorious world. 
His fauldess limbs, than which, from Paria's stone. 
The sculptor's chisel fairer never form'd ; 
And worthy, all, of that Great Architect 
Who, in conception infinite, divine. 
Moulded and smooth'd them to their beauteous shape. 
Beneath the shades of Eden's blooming groves 
Recumbent lie and press Elysian flowers : 
And as the jocund breezes gambol round 
His fair proportions, shaking from their wings 
A grateful aroma, and in their play 
Caress his balmy cheek, or wave the curls, 
Ambrosial, exhuberant, on a brow 
Stamp'd with the imprint bright of Deity, 
Smiles, like the sun-beams of an April's sky 
On beds of roses, dance about his lips 
And speak the dreams delightful Fancy weaves : 
Love's burning pulses stir within his breast. 
And, blandly as the lightest breeze that wakes 
The melody of an JEolean's chords, 
A joyous vision, antedaling bliss, 
Sweeps its sweet phantasma across his soul. 
While, from his side, a creature still more fair 
Than his majestic self, with pliant limb 
And form ethereal, at Jehovah's word. 
Rises to life to cheer his solitude. 
In wavy tresses, down her snowy neck 
And o'er her undulating bosom glows, — 
Shading the rubies on each ivory crest, — 
Her silky hair, as with elastic step, 
A beautiful and buoyant thing, she treads 
15 



114 BUDS AND FLOWERS. 

The thymy margin of a stream and views 
Her charms, undraperied, in its limpid tide. 
Now, from the babbling waters, with a smile 
That beautifies the lips which give it birth. 
And tells, though mute it be, in plainer terms 
Than the most sweet, impassion'd language can. 
How loves delirium warms her every vein. 
She turns and looks on man. He, waking, leaves 
His flowery couch and scans her graceful form — 
Surprise, awe, admiration, and desire 
In quick transition rising in his soul. — 
And now, his arm her waist encircled round. 
Their brilliant eyes discoursing love the while, 
O'er nature's velvet carpeting he leads 
To rosier bowers, the Mother of Mankind. 



She was a thing so witching bright. 

One would have thought some lovely star 
Had left the azure fields of light. 

In yonder mystic realms afar, 
And wandering from its place of birth, 
To mingle with the things of earth, 
Had borrow'd her form, to show 
Us fading mortals here below 

How exquisitely fair are they 
Who tread the golden'dew, 

Where beams an everlasting day, 
And skies are always blue. 
Yes, she was lovely, man ne'er led 
A chaster thing to bridal bed : 

Youth never bent the knee 



BUDS AND FLO AVERS. 115 

To maid with loftier virtues blest, 
Or form and face so amply drest 

In beauty's drapery. 
The brightest Houri 'neath the skies 
Of the swart Prophet's paradise, 

Nor Peri of the sea. 
Fresh risen from her coral grot 
Beneath the limpid wave, was not 

So beautiful as she. 

She had an eye,— oh ! tell me not ■ 
Its brilliance e'er can be forgot ' 
It sparkled, spoke, was eloquent, 

And shed a softer light 
Than orbs that dot the firmament 

Upon a cloudless night. 
('Twere nothing strange for eyes like that 
To make the heart go pit-a-pat 

With pulses passing sweet ; 
When many a one less bright by half 
Has seen some shallow pated calf 

Prone at its owner's feet.) 
But 'twas magnificent, that eye, 

And underneath its ivory lid 

Was rosy Love, now seen, now hid. 
Indulging in his revelry. 

And dew-drop never hung 
On rose-leaf fair as was her cheek ; 
And when the beauty deign'd to speak, — 
As beauties sometimes will, — if but 
To show their lips can ope and shut, — 

The music of her tongue 
Was richer far than are the tones 

The dying swan is said to sing ; 
And sweetly soothing as the moans 

Of ocean's billows wantoning 
O'er weedy rocks, and throwing high 
Their dappled bosoms to the sky, 
In one eternal melody. 



116 BTJDS AND FLOWERS. 

I saw her walk a garden, where 

The brightest flowers that bloom 
In painted vase and rich parterre, 
And bed and bower, gave to air 

Their odorous perfume. 
Her brow a wreath of lotus bound, 

And downward fell her glossy curls, 
As black as midnight's shroud, around 

A neck and bosom white as pearls. 
If brows, — and who will doubt they do ? 
I cannot, fair ones, nor will you, — 
Index the souls which they enshrine. 
Then Cava's must have been divine. 

And as she moved, a fairy thing, 

An angel in degree, 
The fountain hush'd its murmuring ; 
The merry mock-bird ceas'd to sing 

His mellow notes of glee : 

With flowers the bee left gossiping, 
His pinions shook, and hover'd round 
Her dainty lips, forbidden ground 

For e'en a bee to tread ; 

And zeph'rus from his purple wing, 
Disdainfully, the aroma 
Of bud and blossom shook away ; 

The moss-rose hung its head ; — 
The lily shut its snowy cup. 

And dahlias of every hue, 

Red, purple, yellow, whirte and blue 
Eclips'd and sham'd, could not look up ; — 

And peonies, and poppies sheen. 

With hyacinths in robes of green, 
And tulips in their pride. 

The vain and scornful things, with spleen 
And envy almost died. 
Nor did the modest violet dare 
To flaunt its azure foliage there. 
But, a rough bramble hid beneath. 



BUDS AND FLOWERS. 117 

Lay close, and scarcely dar'd to breathe 

In sight of thing so fair ; 
But Cava stoop'd, — for Cava's waist, 
Though delicately small and round, 
Was not with cords and buckram bound, — 
Snapt near the root its stem and placed 

The flower in her hair. 
In this one act of Cava's, all 
My readers, old, young, tall and small, 

The sober, gay, and witty. 
May, if they choose, a moral read ; — 

And I will trace it, 
If, one and all, they are agreed, — 
And here will place it. 
To lengthen out my ditty. 
Well, here it is, — but do not sneer, 
Because the metre may appear, 
To you, particularly queer ; — 

The bard who paints a Venus, 
Above all others, by the crowd 
Of amateurs, it is allow'd, 
(And boobies too,) should be endow'd 

With nature's brightest genus. 
It matters not how modesty 
Is domicil'd, or in what guise 
The maid appears ; 

How mothered, or how sired ; 
Whether 'mid scenes of misery 

She has a home ; or from her eyes 
Fall sorrow's tears ; 

The maid must be admired. 

But, hold ! I have not finish'd yet ! 
Those flowing curls of glossy jet ; 

That neck, and bosom fair ; 
That intellectual brow ; that eye ; 

That luscious lip, which look'd as though 
Some joyous spirit from the sky 

Had snatch' d the vermil from its bow 



118 BUBSANDFLOWERS. 

And placed the colour there, 
All, join'd together, form a theme 
As brilliant as an angel's dream, 
And should be written with a beam 
From the Empyrean, 

For, with a quill from gooses wing 
There never liv'd the man,— 
Including small Tom Moore and Byron, 
Who 've many a damsels heart set fire on, 
And from the sway of virtue won it, 
By burning roundalay and sonnet, — 

That with propriety could sing 

The beauties of this heavenly thing. 
But Cava, though she seem'd to be 

A being of celestial birth, 
A thing of immortality, 

Was mortal, as all are of earth. 

'Twas on a cloudless night in June, — 
In all her loveliness, the moon 

From her serial bowers, 
Look'd down upon the smiling earth. 
Where all was redolent of mirth, 

And incense sweet of flowers, — 
I saw a wreathe of roses white 

Around her lovely brow, 
And heard her at the altar plight. 

To him she lov'd the vow 

To serve, love, honour, and obey : — 
But ere that moon, which shone so bright 
On happy Cava's bridal night, 

From yonder arch had pass'd away. 
The chiming bells began to toll 
The knell of her departed soul. 

The lark had timed his matin lay, 
The breezes sigh'd along the lea, 

And gentle birds on every spray, 
Were warbling forth their melody, 



BUDS AND FLOWERS. 119 

When mourning friends were gathered 
To take their last look of the dead : 

And one seem'd sadder than the rest, — 
It was the bridegroom, and above 
The object of his doating love. 

He bow'd his manly form, and press'd 
Her brow, her lip, her cheek, her eye, — 
Speaking his love's intensity. — 

They bore her to the noiseless tomb, 
Whom death had stricken in the bloom 

Of witching womanhood. 
While many a tear drop fell around 
That little spot of hallow'd ground. 

Not one of all who stood , 

Beside that grove, but whispered 
A heart-warm prayer for the dead. 

But how did Cava die ? Did death, 

And the dark, gloomy sepulchre ' 

In terrors clad appear to her ? 
Oh, no ! that loved one's parting breath 

Went heavenward burthen'd with a song, — • 

But why should I my strain prolong ? — 

Fair readers, I have said my say, 
Some stanzas added to my lay. 

And you with white lids drooping 
O'er e3'^es made up of light and love, — 
Beneath their charming brows above,— 

Should now to bed be trooping. 
As I shall do, — out goes the light,— 
Sweet sleep, sweet dreams to all — good night ! 



120 BUDS AND FLOWERS, 



'M ^m^MHM^'^ MMtum ^Mmgkt%. 



" 'Tis greatly wise to talk with our past hours.'' Young. 

Would I could drowu in Lethe's gloomy stream, 
The memory of two and thirty years, — 
That vast amount of precious time misspent, — 
But conscience whispers, " thus it may not be !" 
Nay, in my waking hours, and when in sleep 
My eye-lids close upon life's checquer'd scene, 
Her voice is heard within this tortur'd breast, 
Speaking of crime, and black ingratitude. 

Oft does my busy memory lead me back, 

Through the dark vista of departed years, 

Even to those dim hours when at her breast, 

A fragile babe, my mother nourish'd me, 

And guarded with a tender parent's care, 

The wretch whose wilful course, her doating heart 

Hath caus'd to bleed with grief at every pore. 

How many days, and weary, wakeful nights. 
When sickness brooded o'er my infant frame. 
Did that fond mother watch beside my couch, 
Soothing my peevish temper with her voice, 
Or lulling me in love's embrace to sleep. 
Ah ! little thought she then, that adder like. 
The boy she lov'd so fondly would repay 
The untiring care with which she cherish'd him. 
Stinging her to her very heart of hearts. 
Nay, look'd she forward with a mother's hope 
To after years, when the enervate babe 
Upon her knee a stalwart man should grow, 
And on life's troubled ocean launch his barque. 



BUDS AND FLOWERS. 121 

Yes, in the dim perspective saw she him 

Contending with the unpropitious gales 

That chafe the bosom of life's stormy flood, 

Now rising on its billows to the skies, 

Again, descending to its lowest deeps. 

But grasping with a firm and firmer hand, 

As troubles thicken'd round his gloomy path, 

The willing helm, and boldly keep his course 

Toward that shore whereon the hallow'd fane. 

Where virtue, clad in heavenly vestments, dwells. 

Rears to the bending sky its golden dome. 

She saw him, too, when age had thinn'd her locks. 

And snatch'd the carmine from her furrow'd cheek, — 

As pass'd she slowly down the vale of years, — 

The solace of those weary hours which shed 

Their twilight on the evening of life. 

This was a bright and soothing dream to her ; — 

And in such dreams do mothers oft indulge, 

Clothing the future in its brightest garb. 

Thoughtless of all the dangers that surround 

The rugged pathways of this impious world : 

Base Dissipation's poison teeming bowl. 

The leman's arts, the gamester's honied words ; 

Alluring wiles to lead the artless youth 

From virtue's track to that of crime and woe, — 

But 'twas a dream ! alas, 'twas all a dream ! 

With time her fair imaginings have flown ; 

Ah, all too deeply hath she been deceived ! 

And he, the guardian of my youth, whose locks 
Are whiten'd with the frosts of three-score years,— 
Who rear'd me nobly, placed me where the sun 
Of science sheds abroad its radiant light. 
Bade me to worship honour, and t' avoid 
The snares that vice had thrown around the world, 
And fitted me to shine amid the throng 
Where intellectual worth is deem'd a gem, — 
How have his hopes been blasted by the wretch 
Who dares no longer call him father, — friend. 
16 



122 BUDSANDFLOVVERS. 

Joy mingles with ray sadness for a time, 
While turns her volume's leaves my memory 
And smiling points to boyhood's guileless hours, 
When fair-brow'd happiness, with lavish hand, 
Strew'd life's rude highw^ay with her fairest flowers, 
And calm Contentment with her siren tones 
Spoke peace unto my bosom, then unmarr'd 
By dark brow'd, gnarled Sorrow's searing hand. 
But quickly is that genial ray dispell'd : — 
While, onward gazing, memory turns to scenes 
Made up of folly, crime, and blasting shame, 
A double darkness whelms my guilty soul. 
'Tis in such hours as this, — were some one near 
Who knew to teach me how to win that path 
Which, when this frail and mortal clay returns 
Whence first it came, leads to eternal bliss, — 
That I would gladly bow this rebel neck. 
And bend this stubborn knee before that throne 
Where dread Omnipotence, a triune God, 
In awful splendor sits, and sways in love 
The destinies of thrice ten thousand worlds. 

Oh, how I long to feel that. he who hung 
In agonies on Calv'ry's reeking cross, — 
Who died a felon's death that such as I, 
Eansom'd by that pure blood, so nobly shed. 
From the dark thrall of sin, might join and kneel 
With sainted choirs in realms beyond the sky, 
To sing the glories of redeeming grace, — 
Looks down in pity on a thing so vile. 

Come, sweet religion! bland-eyed goddess, come ! 
Cheer this sad bosom with thy loveliest smiles ; 
Inspire me with love, with strength divine. 
That with thee I may tread that narrow road 
Which leads to endless joy in realms above. 
Pour out upon'this all-polluted heart 
The purifying streams of grace, and cleanse 
Its inmost recess from the filth of sin. 
Be with me ever : — when the enemy 



BUDS AND FLOWERS. 133 

Of this immortal soul essays to sap 
The firm foundations laid by thy fair hand, 
Which cincture and defend this fragile heart, 
Do thou endue 't with resolution stern 
To battle bravely with its daring foe. 

* *■ * * * 

Father of mercies ! Thou Almighty one, 

Who know'st my ev'ry thought, and word, and deed. 

Turn thou an eye of favour on the worm 

That writhes in pain beneath thy fearful frown, 

0, crush him not ! nor cast him off forev'r, 

Though all too base to merit thy regard ; 

But, for the sake of thy dear Son, vouchsafe 

To save him from the woes of lasting death. 

And make him meet by holiness to share, 

Beyond the grave, that heritage of bliss 

Reserv'd for those who do thy holy will. 

Let the affliction he is suffering now. 

In thy good time be to him sanctified ; 

And if it be thy holy will that, once again. 

In freedom he shall mingle with the world, 

Oh, may the sense of thy amazing love 

To one so undeserving, stir him up 

To live to thee alone, and nought to know 

Beyond his Saviour, and Him crucified. 

Grant, thou Omniscient, grant my humble prayer; 

Be merciful to me, thy sadly erring child, 

And to thy name be all the praise. Amen. 



124 BUDS AND FLOWERS 



WUM um 55 wuM M 55 ^m%ut mm ^^ 

on, 
THE RECIiAlMED INEBRIATE'S SOMILOQ,UY. 

^it Krresular iOoem, 
DEDICATED TO MRS. H. F.A********, OF P . 

Oh, Retrospection, how subduing thouj 

To him on whom the chains of infamy 
So long have hung ; — upon whose care-worn brow 

Are trac'd the marks of Folly's slavery ! 

Of what I am, — of what I might have been, 

Do thoughts, at times, on Mem'ry's scutcheon blaze : — 

Had I but shunn'd the rugged paths of sin, 
And, led by virtue, trodden wisdom's ways, 

I might have soar'd above the common herd, 

Stood where the statesman and the hero stand; — 

Crime had not then my bosom's pulses stirr'd, — 
And, 'stead of serving, I had had command. 

Oh, how the hearts of those I love have bled, 
Bleed still, for me, the favour'd, cherish'd one ; 

Much rather they that I were with the dead 

Than thus, crime-sullied, worthless, and undone. 

I was their pride in boyhood's joyous days, 

When round the flow'ry paths of life was strown 

The brilliancy of virtue's lustrous rays, 
And honour in my bosom held her throne. 

None 'mong the noble or the lowly born, 

Had friends who lov'd them with a warmer love : — 

Fall'n as I am, beneath the ban of scorn, 

They love me still ; — nought can that love remove. 



nUDS AND FLOWERS. 125 

Thus is it, but no fault remains with them, 

That the bright jewel Honour has not now 
The highest place in life's fair diadem ; 

That shame hath plac'd her seal upon my brow. 

From childhood's home I was no cast-a-way ; 

Serene and cloudless was my boyhood's sky ; 
Bright were the hours of each succeeding day ; 

By tears of sorrow shone undimm'd my eye. 

I was not forc'd, as thousands are, to rear 

Upon the world's rude sea, my swelling sails, - 

And, leaving all that to the heart is dear, 
Dash wildly on before its fickle gales. 

Without a friendly chart, or compass true. 

Among its rocks and shoals to guide my way ; 

Nay, all its fearful dangers were in view, 

Eeefs, breakers, shoals, and rocks, a dark array. 

I knew the world, with all its myriad wiles ; 

Its cunning, and its well cloak'd knavery. 
Its sordid meanness, its deceitful smiles, 

Its blasting coldness well were known to me. 

What reck'd that knowledge ? hath not misery 
Her darkest shades, for years, around me thrown ; 

And sorrow's pains, in all their poignancy, 

Poison'd each pulse my seared heart hath known I 

Ah ! yes, this burning heart hath been the mark 
At which her keenest arrows have been hurl'd. 

Since, at its portals, crime, with visage dark, 
And foetid breath, her sombre flag unfurl'd. 

My bosom fraught with bright imaginings, 

I launch' d my gilded barque upon the tide, 
And spreading to the breeze her snowy wings, 

Laugh'd care to scorn, and all the world defied. 

Reckless of danger, madly on I sped ; 

Smil'd at the clouds that gather'd round my path, 
And mock'd the thunders rolling o'er my head, 

'Till burst the tempest in its fearful wrath. 



126 BUDS AND FLOWERS. 

Then gazed I wildly round ; — in tatters torn 
My sails were wafted o'er a boiling sea, 

And soon my barque, by billows rudely borne, 
A wreck, was thrown upon a foaming lee. 

'Twas that dread coast, Intemperance, whose shore 
With wreck of barques as fair as was mine own,-r- 

Freighted with gems which they shall bear no more, — 
A warning to the young and gay, lies strown. 

From that dark shore, upon the world's broad sea. 
Oft have I turn'd my eyes, and seen afar. 

Before the wind, their canvass flowing free, 

Those who had Honour made their guiding star. 

Thence, too, have T the friends I love beheld,— 
The mother, sisters, brothers, and the sire, 

Whose breasts so oft, for me, with grief have swell'd, — 
And, gazing, felt a hell my bosom fire. 

And there hath memory often turn'd to one, 
The lov'd, the loving one of happier days ; 

My bosom's idol, and the glorious sun 

That o'er youth's bright Elysium shed its rays. 

Yes, there is one, on this green earth, 

So bright, so pure, so meek, so chaste, 
The poet may not tell her worth : — 

A lovelier thing was never trac'd 
By limner in his happiest mood ; 

A form so faultless never grac'd 
The dream of lo.ve in solitude. 

The dew of morn, the flowret fann'd 
By Zeph'rus' silken wing. 

The pearl on India's coral strand, 
Is not so fair a thing. 

I lov'd, — ah ! it were vain for me 
To say, how fondly, doatingly, — 

I lov'd but her alone. 
When the first ray of manhood shed 
Its brilliant light around my head, 

And virtue held her throne 



BUDS AND FLOWERS. 127 

Within this bosom, then unfranght 
With crime, ere an unholy thought, 
Or impious word, or deed of shame 
Had thrown a blight upon my name. 

I lov'd her ; — yes, my bosom burn'd 

With that exalted, hallow'd fire 

Which flames unsullied by desire, — 
And well my passion was returned. 
Yea, from her lips the honied words 

" I love thee," many a time and oft 

Fell on my ear, in tones as soft 
As murmurings of unfledg'd birds. 

And in her eyes, — 
Bright as the jewels that adorn 
The forehead of an April's morn, 
Or equalling the radiance worn 

By tropic skies, — 
I've read the thoughts that revelled 

Within her gloomy breast. 
Where love's pure sun its brilliance shed, 

And felt supremely blest ; 
For in those eyes, by beauty grac'd. 
The index of her soul was trac'd ; 

A fairer could not be. 
Shone she the star of womankind. 
Ruled was the empire of her mind 
By spotless purity. 

We lov'd, — yes, lov'd we, but in vain ; 

We parted, and the golden beam 
That hallow'd Love's enamell'd chain, 

Vanish'd as bubbles on a stream : — 
Ah ! thus was it with her ! 
Years roU'd away, but love had held 

Too firm a set within my breast. 

Like rosy beams upon the west, 
Or baseless dreams to be dispell'd, 
Or summer's gossamer. 



12S BUDSANDF LOWERS. 

In eastern wilds, where blood was rife, 
When loudest rose the battle's strife, 

And many a dying groan 
Was heard above the startling yell 
Of savage foes, on plain and dell, — 
From hardy men, who nobly fell, — 
And slaughter wav'd his reeking blade, 

And hurl'd his crimson'd spear. 
Amid the conflict, undismay'd. 
Of her so bright, so dear, 

So lov'd, I thought alone. 

In every clime the glorious sun 
Has thrown his genial rays upon — 

On India's sands of gold; 
In isles where nature's children roam, 
Untutor'd o'er their forest home. 

With forms of peerless mould ; 
And raven locks, whose dazzling gloss 
Would shame the cocoon's silken floss ; 
Steps light as air, and lovely eyes. 
As bright as are their sunny skies ; 

Voices, whose tones come o'er the soul 
Soft as the lullaby 

Sung by the laughing waves that roll 
[Jpon a tropic sea ; 

Bosoms that know no thought of guile, 
No pulse of hate, no art ; 

And lips which speak, in every smile 
The sunshine of the heart, — 
I've wandered ; but the liquid eye. 
The luscious lip, the fitful sigh, 
The fairy form, the glossy hair, 
The graceful step, the forehead fair, 
The mellow voice, the bosom's swell. 
Could not a thought of her dispel. 

In lands where despotism reigns, — 
And man, beneath oppression's chains, 
Without a moment all his own, 
Through life's dull years is doom'd to groan 



BUDS AND FLOWERS. 129 

Where jewell'd coronets are bound, 
Of sceptr'd kings the brows around, 
And serf and noble bend the knee, 
And bow the head to majesty, — 
I've roam'd 'mid scenes of revelry ; 
But, still, the loveliest, fairest she 

My bosom could not stir ; 
'Mid dance, and song, and notes of glee, 
Claim'd all its power my memory. 

And fondly turn'd to her. 
Aye, Beauty play'd her arts in vain. 

She could not move a heart like mine, — 
So warm, so true, — to wear her chain. 

And bow a vassal at her shrine. 
Around it hung a spell 
"Her witching manners fail'd to break : — 
Man's heart 's a castle hard to take 
When Love stands sentinel. 

'Tis past ! Love's dream hath vanished. 

She lives another's now ; 
The sunlight of my youth hath fled, 

A shade is on my brow. 
The baneful deed, the poison'd bowl, 
Have thrown a cloud around my soul, 
And o'er my once unsullied name 
Hath swept the withering blast of shame ; 
Life's hour of happiness hath past, 
'Twas all too bright, too fair to last. 

Oft when the god of day hath set, 
And night hath donn'd her coronet 

Of jewels rare. 
In vision, round my pillow flits. 
Or by my side in silence sits 

A being fair. 
'Tis she I lov'd, — I love e'en now ; 
The brightness of her hazle eye, 
The snowy whiteness of her brow, 
Her soft cheek's roseate dye, 
17 



130 BUDS AND FLOWERS. 

The matchless lip, the bosom fair, 
Yea, every feature still is there, 
Clad in the grace 'twas wont to wear, 

When strewn with flowers 
Were all the paths of life, and joy, 
Bliss, happiness, without alloy, 

Illum'n'd its bowers. 
She speaks not, but methinks her eye 

Is humid with a starting tear. 
And from her bosom springs a sigh 

Of grief, at thought that one so dear, 
As once I was to her, should be 
Dark Folly's veriest votary. 

That o'er the verdure of my soul 

Hath pass'd the poison'd tide, — 
The blasting siroc of the bowl, — 
, And scath'd its jealous pride. 

That, when the light of life hath fled. 
And I shall sleep the sleep that all, — 
The rich, the poor, the great, the small, — 
Must sleep, the place where lies my head 
Shall not be hallow'd with a tear 
From friendship's brilliant eye, 
Nor the soft breezes murmuring near 
Be burthen'd with her sigh. 
Or that, mayhap, my requiem may be 

The billow's music, when, in wild commotion, 
It rolls along in its immensity. 

Upon the bosom of some stormy ocean. 

Yes, oft that beauteous vision throws 
Its influence sweet o'er my repose ; 

For years that phantasy 
Hath hover'd round my couch each night. 
And fill'd my bosom with delight. 
Upon the land and sea. 
And, oh ! may 't long continue thus to haunt 
My humble pillow ; — while it hovers there. 
That incubus with features grim and gaunt, — 



BUDS AND FLOWERS. 

Hope's sternest enemy, fell, black despair,- 
Clad in her wildest terrors, will not dare 
Her bloody standard in my breast to plant. 
Thinks she of me ? Has e'en one thought 
Of him she lov'd in happier days, — 
When girlhood's planet threw its rays 
Of mellow radiance round her life, 
And every hour with joy was rife, — 
And days by gone, with pain unfraught, — 

Had place in her young breast? 
Can it be so ? oh, did I dare 
To hold- the blissful thought, that there 
The scroll of memory still retain'd 
A name with guilt so deeply stain'd, 
I were not all unblest. 

May't never be that harrowing care 
Shall throw the shadow of her wing 
Around the bosom of a thing 
So bright, so ravishingly fair. 

Nay, may that bosom never know 
Nor pang of pain, nor pulse of woe ; 
And when life's stream hath ceas'd to roll 
Its crimson current through each vein, 
May, upward from this sphere of pain. 
Her innocent, her spotless soul 
On angels' wings be borne away, 
To regions of eternal day, 

Where a seraphic choir,' — 
In praises to the King of kings, — 
Strike witching music from the strings 

Of many a golden lyre. 
This must, 0, yes, this can't but be 
That pure one's happier destiny, 

While I, mayhap, for years, — 
Woe-worn, despairing, and alone, 
Joy to ray bosom all unknown, — 

May tread this vale of tears. 



131 



132 BUDSANDFLOWEHS. 

Perchance 't may be my lot of gloom, 

Forsaken in some far off land to die, 
And be, by strangers hurried to the tomb, 

Without one friend to close my glazing eye. 
Or, on some wild and dreary region thrown, — 

My comrades having met a happier death 
Beneath the wave, — in misery, and alone, 

'T may be my hapless fate to yield my breath. 

To die, were nothing of itself to me : 

The hour of dissolution may be fraught 
With pain, in all its torturing poignancy. 

But oh ! the dark, the fearful searing thought 
Of that dread future, that eternity 
Which must succeed ! 
There glows the shaft, there lies the piercing smart, 
There centres that which poisins all the heart, 
And bids it bleed. 

That thought, — when round the sinner's dying bed 
The grizzly phantom waits to hurl his dart, 

And every hope of lingering here hath fled, — 
That thought is hyssop to his burning heart; 

And fiercely there. 
Revels in all her madness, rob'd in gloom, — 
While sinks her pallid victim to the tomb, — 
Dark brow'd despair. 

Is 't thus to be ? Forbid it. Thou whose throne 
Is pillar'd on the arch of yon blue heaven ! 
Forbid it. Thou, by whom, and whom alone, 

The vilest worm on earth may be forgiven '. 
Forbid it, thou Omnific, for the sake 

Of Him who died on Calvary ! 
Forbid it. Thou who 'st said, " I will not break 

The bruised reed !" — Forbid that thus 't should be ! 
And may my future hours be full of praise 

For the unnumber'd blessings thou hast strown 
Around my life, and may my humble lays 

Be tuned in praise of thy lov'd name alone. 



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